


Don't You Ever Tame Your Demons

by onehundredpercentjuice



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 1990s, Aang is an angel, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Bending (Avatar TV), Angst, Badass Suki, Badass Toph Beifong, Based on a Tumblr Post, Clubbing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, False Identity, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, I really don't know much about christianity, Kataang - Freeform, M/M, Minor Sokka/Suki, New York City, No Beta, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Ozai is Lucifer, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Secret Identity, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, The Blue Spirit!, Toph has blind jokes, We Die Like Men, angel!aang, demon!zuko, iroh has his tea shop, making all of this up, making up angel powers?, making up demon powers, more zukka than kataang, oh my god they were roommates, sokka/zuko - Freeform, sorry - Freeform, zukka - Freeform, zuko is a demon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25390549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehundredpercentjuice/pseuds/onehundredpercentjuice
Summary: (based on an idea from @luvzuko on Tumblr ;)Title is from "Arsonist's Lullabye" by Hozier, which has always reminded me of Zuko.Aang is the last archangel, living on Earth, unaware that Heaven has been ravaged by the demon army.Zuko is the prince of Hell, banished to the mortal realm.Sokka, Katara, and Toph have no idea.They are all living in the same hallway and attending the same college.Things get complicated.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 272





	1. Chapter 1: The Boy in the Dorm Room

CHAPTER 1: THE BOY IN THE DORM ROOM

Sokka had never minded waiting for his sister. 

He waited for her on their front stoop while she finished doing her hair in those stupid loops, even if they missed the subway. He waited as she painstakingly thought out every move during Sunday morning chess. He waited as she explained how to make chocolate chip cookies in way too much detail for the fifteenth time. It made perfect sense for him to wait for Katara to finish high school, so that they could start college together. 

Also, Sokka needed to be Katara’s legal guardian for a year since their father was overseas. Also, he needed to work and save, which meant three jobs, graveyard shifts, and Katara slapping him awake at the asscrack of morning. But he had waited, done his time, and saved what he needed to, and now he was ready to start college— right alongside his sister. If Sokka were being honest, he’d say that he hated working construction, bartending (over 18, under 21: right in the sweet spot for serving alcohol), waiting tables and even those few babysitting gigs. They were all jobs that needed doing and that he took pride in— and he didn’t mind the hours of construction making up for his gym membership, either. But every morning, on his way to the Columbus Avenue scaffolding, his eyes were in the windows of the campus libraries. Inside, he could see the arches of dark, polished wood and nearly garish sets of chandeliers. He could practically taste the stress of the students hunched over their laptops and textbooks and highlighters. He longed to get lost in the endless shelves of books—the real core of the library—and forget that he had ever had to promise to make up this month’s rent or deny his little sister the prom dress of her dreams. 

And after he had waited his entire life, one more year was nothing and everything. Stepping onto campus the first day was worth it. Sure, he might’ve taken the same 168th street subway to get there, might’ve saluted the Washington Heights and his grandmother’s now-empty apartment the same way he did every morning as he left, but the difference was that he was now downtown to stay. He hated feeling like a rich, snobby, college kind of guy, but goddamn it if he hadn’t earned the bliss of standing in his own dorm, breathing in the smell of bleach and cheap furniture and a hint of ancient undergraduate vomit, facing the rest of his life.

Of course, his roommate had to be a rich, snobby, college kind of guy who Sokka could tell hadn’t earned that moment of bliss. And apparently didn’t even care for it. 

Sokka snapped out of his reverie as the door opened on him, cracking him in the back of the head. 

“Ow- fuck!” He rubbed the sore spot right beneath his ponytail and stepped back, collapsing on the bottom bunk of the bed. 

“Oh, uh, hey,” a male voice said noncommittally and non-apologetically. On cue, a black-haired boy stepped into the room, pulling a suitcase. Sokka truly did notice that first— the black-hairedness. The boy had a sheaf of floppy, shiny black hair, the kind that looked perfectly moisturized but not greasy. The second thing Sokka noticed, and which made him avert his eyes, was the scar. It was a puckered, angry red mark that covered the left half of his new roommate’s face, spreading like a plume of fire from the inner corner of his eye and ending somewhere back in the perfect hair. Even with the scar and the quick aversion of his gaze, Sokka could tell that the boy was undeniably, strikingly beautiful. Lanky, but graceful— measured, somehow. 

“Hi. You must be Zuko.” Sokka had read his housing email and information packet, of course. It’s not like he didn’t know what roommate he was going to be having, even if he hadn’t gotten to specifically pick this annoying, beautiful guy.

“And you’re Sokka.” The boy- Zuko- pulled the suitcase in behind him, and Sokka finally sized up his outfit. He was wearing a striped comme de garçons tee underneath an unbuttoned silk shirt, plus straight-leg black jeans and artfully distressed black boots. The whole goth getup probably cost five of Sokka’s biweekly paychecks.

“Yup. That’s me.” For a rich guy, Zuko didn’t have a lot of stuff. He seemed to only have the one suitcase. Still, it was a full-size leather suitcase.

“So. You want the bottom bunk?” Comfortingly, money still couldn’t buy social skills. 

“Sure. Don’t really care though.” Sokka gave his aching head a last pat to dispel any possible concussion and turned back to his boxes. The boys didn’t speak for the rest of the night. 

—————————————————————————————————————

Down the hall, Katara was having a crisis. 

Her roommate, Toph, was late to move-in day (who’s late for the first day of the rest of their lives? Katara couldn’t imagine it), which was actually a blessing in disguise since she was currently having a very un-collegiate, non-adult, terrible-first-introduction cat problem. 

It had been decided that she would be the one to take the cat, since Sokka’s roommate had put down that he was allergic. But Momo had always liked Sokka more, and Katara had always been clumsy with cat carriers.

“Momo! Get back here!” Katara whipped around the corner of the hallway, chasing the Siamese cat, sweat and panic already collecting between her shoulder blades. Sokka would kill her if she lost their childhood pet on the first day. Momo, the childhood pet in question, chirruped, tail flicking as he squeezed through a barely-open dorm door. A barely-open dorm door that was not Sokka’s, as Katara had expected, but that belonged to a perfect stranger. 

Wondering what to do, Katara put her hands on her knees, panting. Maybe the person wasn’t in their room, and she could just sneak in and grab Momo. Or maybe they were, and they were freaking out about a cat that had just broken and entered, or they were deathly allergic, or—

“Hey, little buddy! Who’re you?” Dorm room doors were thin, and Katara could hear a scratchily young male voice float from within the room, followed by a short laugh. See? Probably fine. Probably a person who wouldn’t scream at her for letting her cat get loose. She knocked.

“Oh, hey! Come in!” Katara pushed the door open, immediately greeted by a waft of incense. She had always hated incense, but for some reason it was soothing here, and smelled more like something undefinably good than Katara’s grandmother’s old reading group. The next thing she was greeted by was a gigantic dog. 

“Appa! Down!” The same voice was coming from within the dorm, but all Katara could see was shaggy white fur and a tongue that was headed straight for her face. The dog— Appa, apparently— gave her a long, slobbery lick. It tickled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“No, it’s fine,” she said to the stranger. “He seems friendly.” Weaving her hands into the dog’s fur, right around his ears, she looked over at the person whose room she had just invaded. The guy was about her height, with a shaved head and a baggy yellow hoodie. He was smiling widely, in a way that would have been unnerving if it weren’t obviously genuine, and to Katara’s greatest surprise, Momo was perched on his shoulder. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Momo got loose, I was moving in and the stupid clasp on the carrier—" the boy laughed again, reaching up to give Momo’s cheek a scratch. 

“Nah, I love cats.” The boy playfully headbutted the cat draped around his neck, and something in Katara’s stomach did a little loop-de-loop. “Momo, huh? That’s a good name.” Katara blushed.

“Well, he seems to like you.” At that moment, Momo leapt off of the boy’s shoulder and landed beside Appa on the ground, cuddling into the side of the enormous dog. Appa flopped onto his side and Momo burrowed deeper into the endless fluff. “

“Or maybe he just likes Appa!” The boy laughed again. 

“Sorry, this is so weird— I know your dog’s name, you know my cat’s name, but I don’t know your name,” Katara blurted. She stood, awkward and red and covered in dog hair, and held out her hand. “I’m Katara.” 

“Nice to meet you, Katara. I’m Aang.” He shook her hand warmly but got a funny look on his face the moment they touched. It was somewhere between surprise, excitement, and worry— but Katara shook it off. She glanced back down at their pets, who had clearly become best friends in the time it took their owners to fumble through an awkward introduction.

“Well, if I can’t get my cat off your dog’s stomach, I think we might be seeing more of each other.” 

—————————————————————————————————————

After Katara had managed to get Momo away from Appa, she left Aang’s dorm and returned to her own, only slightly flustered from their exchange. She returned to find the door open and a girl standing inside, facing away from her—she was short, maybe five feet tall, with dark black hair in two perfect buns at the top of her head. She looked scruffy, in dark denim overalls and boots, but also very young. Katara knocked on the open door to announce her presence.

“Hi! Are you Toph?” The girl turned around, and Katara saw she had long bangs, going all the way to her nose and even a bit past it. Must be hard to see. The girl had some sort of cane in her hand, but it was folded up.

“Yeah. Which means you’re Katara,” she replied. Her bangs were hanging right over her eyes, but they shifted as she twirled the cane thing in her hand. As the hair moved, Katara got a glimpse of clouded-over, unfocused eyes, going in slightly different directions. And it clicked.

“Are you— are you blind?” Katara tried to ask nicely, non-offensively, but she was genuinely surprised.

“Yup.” Toph blew upward, lifting a strand of her bangs with her breath and letting it float back down, nonplussed.

“Oh- sorry, the application didn’t mention—uh, you don’t really look blind,” Katara hurriedly tried to explain. Toph grunted.

“And you don’t look ignorant. But I guess I don’t know what you look like anyway.” Katara felt like she had swallowed something cold. She had already made an enemy of her roommate! She was scrambling for something to say, some sort of appropriate apology, but Toph turned around, holding out her hand. 

“Don’t worry, I won’t let you stay ignorant for long. You’ll learn. And you put down that you don’t snore, so we should be fine.” The coldness loosened, and Katara shook her hand, smiling. 

“Thanks. I will, I promise. But if you don’t mind me asking, how do you do your schoolwork? And get to class and stuff?” Toph grinned. 

“Well technically, I can’t read or write. But I can type, and when I hover over something with my mouse, the computer tells me what I’m supposed to be looking at or reads out whatever text I need to hear. So I have headphones in a lot.” She reached out for the post of the bunk bed, found it, and put down her backpack, sitting. “As for getting around, I’m pretty good with remembering where I am- spatial awareness, or whatever you want to call it. See?” She whipped her arm out to the left, stopping an inch before she hit the bedpost. 

“Wow. That’s really impressive.” 

“I know.” Toph smirked. “And before you ask, I don’t have super-hearing or sonic abilities or anything. I’m better at feeling vibrations and rebounding vibrations and stuff, but that’s all touch, not hearing. I like touching a hard surface so I can suss out where at least furniture and stuff is. Plus, I can feel your heartbeat right now.” Katara touched her chest, for no reason. 

“That’s so cool. But it must be kind of distracting in class, right?” Toph laughed. 

“Yeah. But it’s funny when someone’s heart rate skyrockets ‘cause they don’t know the answer to a question. And tests are like 30-minute drum solos for me.” Katara laughed. “Well, that’s the first lesson done with, and it’ll be on the test at the end of the week. Tomorrow is the white cane.” Katara laughed again.

“I think we’re gonna get along really well.” 

—————————————————————————————————————

Katara was wrong. She might not snore, but Toph did, loudly. And she kept all her clothes in a huge pile on her bed, and she left her toothbrush on her desk, of all places, and she refused to take out the trash because she already returned her own dishes to the dining hall. She was “pulling her own weight,” but never helping out with the team effort of being a roommate.

A week passed, and the pair found something to argue about every day, without fail. Sokka seemed to be having about the same amount of luck with his roommate, even if they just didn’t talk at all. Orientation, tours, and informational sessions were done, and now the freshman class just had to settle into the school year, make friends, and do college things. 

Aang, the dog guy from the single room on the corner, turned out to be the problem solver. After a particularly difficult biology class, Katara returned to her dorm to find Aang in her dorm, shooting the breeze with Tornado Toph. 

“Katara? What are you doing here?” Katara blinked. 

“Uh, hi, Aang. I live here.” She said awkwardly. Aang’s eyebrows skyrocketed. 

“Oh. Toph was just telling me about her roommate. I had no idea… well, I had no idea that was you,” Aang tried to joke, but Katara could tell Toph had been complaining about her. 

“Well, we haven’t known each other for very long, have we,” Katara responded, looking right at Toph, who was looking right at the floor. “Speaking of, how’d you two meet?”

“World religion 101,” Aang replied, smiling. Toph was not. “With Professor Yangchen. She is so amazing— the whole class is about the tenets that connect all religion, not just the Abrahamic ones, and how they’re all really more similar than they are—" 

“Hey, who’s the weirdo in that? Zu something?” Toph elbowed Aang, interrupting, but Aang just brightened again. 

“Zuko! I never forget names.” Katara tuned back in. 

“Zuko? That’s my brother’s roommate,” she added. 

“You never told me your brother went here,” Aang said.

“Well, we have only met twice.” Katara blushed. Toph sniffed loudly.

“Yeah, he’s the meathead down the hall. Sokka. Also a freshman, but a year older. Yada yada yada,” Toph explained, fake yawning. Aang was just grinning wider, still focused on Katara.

“You’re kidding! Sokka and I have the same advisor. We met in his office two days ago. I can’t believe I didn’t see the family resemblance!” Katara scoffed.

“Don’t worry, I’ve honestly always been offended when people compared us. Really, it’s an honor.” That got a smirk out of even Toph. 

“Hey, why don’t all three of you come over for a movie sometime? I have a single, so there’s plenty of room for us to spread out,” Aang offered. Yes! This was exactly the kind of college experience Katara was supposed to be planning. 

“When, twinkletoes?” Toph asked, stretching out on the bed and wrinkling her nose in pretend nonchalance— Katara could tell she was excited too. 

“Friday? I have to write an essay tomorrow night, the one I’ve been putting off for—"

“Friday’s great.”

—————————————————————————————————————


	2. The Blue Spirit

CHAPTER 2: THE BLUE SPIRIT

To be honest, Sokka was not entirely thrilled to be spending his Friday night with the guy his sister very obviously had a crush on, but unfortunately, he hadn’t been invited to any raves or house parties or frat whatevers yet, so he had nowhere else to be. He had met Aang outside Professor Kuruk’s office and talked for a few minutes, but hadn’t gotten a good read on the kid yet. Sure, Aang seemed smiley and benign, but Sokka’s gut was telling him there was something off. So, with a lack of frat parties and a sister to supervise, Sokka knocked on Aang’s door.

“Hey! Sokka!” Katara was already present, as was her roommate, who Sokka had heard way too much about lately. “Come on in.” A clunky TV was set up on Aang’s desk, complete with a VCR and surrounded by a small mountain range of thick VHS tapes— Sokka zeroed in on Karate Kid. Appa— the 130-pound Newfoundland that the entire floor already knew and loved— was draped over the chair, white fur splayed in every direction. Aang himself, however, was not present. Sokka frowned.

“Hey. Where’s boy wonder?” Katara folded her arms. Toph snickered and earned an elbow in her side.

“He said he had to get something. Who knows with that kid?” She added. Sokka flopped onto the ground below the girls, stretching his shoulders out and knocking his head against Katara’s dangling leg playfully. She kicked him, and he pouted.

“Hopefully he’s getting snacks, at least.”

“Actually, I was getting snacks!” Aang pushed the door open, holding a few bags of popcorn and a six pack of Sprite, beaming. “And the last member of our party, of course.” Something inside Sokka seized up. He had always prided himself on being proficient in people skills— if his serial relationships in high school meant anything at all— but he also liked concrete plans, not surprises. Neither Aang nor Katara had mentioned this fifth member, and as soon as the door opened again, Sokka understood why.

“Uh, hello. Zuko here.” Sokka’s roommate hovered at the door, awkwardly, looking everywhere but at Sokka. He was overdressed, wearing an unreasonably smooth leather jacket and dark red jeans with a fucking chain on the side, like he was dressing up as some kind of scene kid douchebag. Or maybe he just was. Sokka tried not to groan out loud.

“Hey, it’s Sparky!” Toph was the one to break the silence, thankfully. She hopped off the bed, wrenching the bags of popcorn out of Aang’s hands. “And I can’t tell you what this snack food is, but it feels round. Pretzels or popcorn?”

“Popcorn, Toph,” Katara said plainly. Sokka threw her a look, but returned his gaze to Zuko, trying to arrange his face into the perfect smirk.

“Did she just call you _Sparky_?” He asked. Zuko’s nose wrinkled, pulling the burned side of his face with it, creasing the hardened flesh. Toph laughed behind them. 

“Yeah, his shitty lighter practically exploded at the end of Yangchen’s first seminar. A few sparks got into some girl’s hair and she flipped,” she explained. “Meng, I think her name was.” Despite Sokka’s attempts to make him flee, Zuko seemed to be enjoying his exchange with Toph. He smiled lopsidedly, the left side of his face still not moving.

“Come on, those braids were like tinderboxes. Not my fault.” Toph cackled again, and Zuko reached into his leather coat. “But I got a new one. Just for you, Toph.” He pressed it into her palm, and she threw the snack bags at Katara so she could start playing with it, running her fingers through the flame quick enough not to burn herself.

“Sick!”

“Careful, Toph. Your hair looks pretty flammable too,” Aang joked, sitting next to Katara on the far end of his bed. Of course, that meant there was nowhere for Zuko to sit except on the floor, _right_ next to Sokka. As Katara warned Toph to keep the lighter on her side of the bed, Zuko awkwardly sat down, all lanky limbs and red denim. He glanced at Sokka, sideways, almost— almost _nervously_.

And suddenly, all in a moment, Sokka felt bad. Undeniably, guiltily bad. Not in a pity way, even though Zuko clearly didn’t have any friends since he had just been dragged along to Aang’s movie party— probably because _money really can’t buy social skills_ — and even though the dude did have a pretty gnarly scar. He had just ignored his roommate, written him off as a goth rich kid. Toph seemed to like him, didn’t she? And Toph was the only person Sokka had ever met who could annoy Katara more than he could, which was saying something. He should give the guy a chance.

“Hey, dude. I know we haven’t, like, talked much or anything, but uh… you seem fine,” Sokka said, sideways. Zuko fidgeted.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Zuko’s voice was raspy, husky. And clipped.

“So, lighter? You smoke?” Sokka nudged him. “Katara hates that. She made me quit.” Zuko grinned again, and Sokka felt accomplished.

“I’m always trying to quit. But yeah, I smoke.”

“Just cigarettes?” There was a challenge in Sokka’s eyes, and Zuko rose to it.

“’Course not.” Sokka fist-bumped him. “Nice. Guess I don’t have to hide my bong anymore,” he joked.

“What was that?” Katara asked sharply from above them. Sokka rolled his eyes, and Zuko’s grin cringed. “Nothing, Kat. Come on, let’s pick something to watch.”

—————————————————————————————————————

Time passed— easily, almost lazily for Sokka, as the humidity of August wore off and the slight chill of September warned for the winter to come. Things were easier now that he had broken the ice with his roommate, but there was still something definitively off about him. Not just the way he dressed, which was a decidedly strange combination of old money and Greenwich Village street fashion, but the way he was always squirming, always fidgeting, always nervous. Sokka could tell that underneath his hair, he looked for exits in every room he entered. Maybe it had something to do with the scar. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe he was just a weirdo who was far too fond of red and black. Sokka tried to tell himself he didn’t really care what the guy’s deal was, even when he became a staple of their developing friend group. Eventually, from nowhere at all, they started habitually walking to breakfast together, chatting about nothing, dodging druggies and squad cars alike.

Soon, a pattern emerged in their conversations. Sokka would offer up some small part of his past— when Katara broke her arm, when they found Momo in the gutter, when his dad enlisted, when his dad ended up in various overseas operations that included the word _Desert_ — and Zuko would nod along, encourage the story, interject appropriately, make jokes at the right times, and offer absolutely nothing in return. All Sokka _properly_ knew was that Zuko had a younger sister, that he _had_ had a girlfriend, before ( _before what?_ ), and that his uncle lived in the city too. Sokka wanted it to be enough, but it didn’t help that the strange, awkward roommate also had a background shrouded in mystery.

It also didn’t help that Sokka was about 80% sure he was sneaking out at night.

—————————————————————————————————————

The Blue Spirit dropped and rolled. The ‘stopping’ part had never helped him in the past, and it certainly wouldn’t help him now, on this rooftop, on this night. He was young, he knew, but his muscles had been drilled past forgetting for years. Without thinking, without hesitating, his body wrenched off of the concrete and ducked under his opponent’s strike. He breathed. At night, out here, his mitochondria and his lactic acid took over, putting his neurons out of work as they contracted and released seemingly of their own accord. He ducked again, panting, his lips brushing the inside of the mask, touching the lacquered wood for just a moment. He breathed again, putting that fuel behind his fist as he plunged his hand forward. It caught, as it always did, and burned as it connected. His opponent howled and dropped their form.

The Blue Spirit’s fist sung, as it always did. He growled, hating the warmth that spread through his whole body, hating how his next breath begged to be used for its true purpose. He crouched and struck, holding back, but his opponent clipped him on his left. His weaker side. He stumbled backward, to a different place and time, and just over the edge of the building.

Later, he’d tell himself he knew there was a fire escape below. He hit it, hard, and all that breath and power was gone in a second. His weight had shaken some rust from the metal, and the smell of it choked him. He knew there would be flecks of it in his hair in the morning. His opponent landed beside him.

“You’re no _Blue Spirit,_ are you,” The voice above him muttered darkly. “You’re not a spirit at all. You're much worse than that.” The voice laid out a few general curses.

The Blue Spirit, as a rule, did not speak; not for lack of wanting. He inhaled, deeply, as a glinting fist swung for his neck.

He leapt and kicked, giving in, and his heel flamed as it spun. He knew it would hit before it did.

His opponent swore again, providing a weak strike in return.

“You know the word around town, don’t you?” The Blue Spirit did not. He dodged the knife, flattening against the wall of the building and then swinging down to the next level of the fire escape. The smell of rust was trapped within his mask.

His opponent followed. “Apparently—” they grunted as they avoided another jab— “some folks ‘round this neighborhood swear they’ve seen a man with wings.” The Blue Spirit inhaled. “That’s gotta be bad news for you, doesn’t it?” The Blue Spirit drove both his fists forward, letting fire properly engulf them, untamed.

They landed squarely in his opponent’s chest, and there was a sickening crack, like a faraway gunshot, and a groan, and then nothing.

Later, back on the street below, the Blue Spirit wiped his chin and spat. He leant on the bricks, catching his breath, hurting. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting anymore. He was far away from the hurt, living a different life. For a moment, he considered that different life— in its entirety. _Libraries. Boys. Good music. Indulgent cigarettes._ It was a good life. But here he was, at three in the morning, willingly leaving it behind. _But it’s finally worth it_ , he thought. Because now he knew for sure. There was an angel in the city.

—————————————————————————————————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!   
> I wasn't actually alive during the 90s... hope I do it justice.   
> Drop a comment or some kudos if you liked it, and thank you to everyone who commented already. Means a lot. Thanks for reading!


	3. The Angel and the Blue Spirit

CHAPTER 3: THE ANGEL AND THE BLUE SPIRIT

At night, Aang opened all three windows in his dorm room and breathed— just _tasted_ — the air as long as he could stand it. If the impulse passed, he slammed the windows and passed out or went back to work. If it didn’t, which was a larger percentage of the time, he gave up and got out.

He had a routine. He wasn’t stupid. Turn off lights. Turn on fan. Make it seem like a person is in the room, asleep. Go out the window, quietly, climb up to the roof, don’t accidentally kick the gutter. Tiptoe around sleeping pigeons, try not to wake them, inevitably fail. Take off hoodie. Put on the hoodie hidden behind the roof vents. Stretch. Fly.

So far, the routine had been working perfectly, and it was working tonight. Aang had had an itch to get out since early that morning, and he knew that no amount of open-window breathing would scratch it. He even canceled on _Katara_ to come out, which he really hated doing. Every time he thought he had settled with these people, gotten used to classes, finished all his assignments on time— something within him took hold, and he could hardly wait until night fell to race to the rooftops. Aang breathed, relishing the crispness of the air as Fall was approaching. That was going to be a problem, but one that he could ignore for now.

Achingly, he untied the knot under his left armpit and started unwrapping his chest. As the tension in his shoulders, then chest, then stomach released, he breathed deeper. On another breath, with a last check to make sure he was alone, he stretched. Every joint in his wings seemed to crackle to life at once, and he swore he could feel blood returning to the root of every feather. Aang had to suppress a sharper, more insistent tug from his stomach as he enjoyed unfolding his wings. Behind him, they glowed, turning the cool-toned moonlight warm as they reflected it back into the night sky. Aang pushed his wings through the holes he had made in the secondary sweatshirt and drew the hood over his head, tightening the laces. And then, watching for cloud cover, he took off.

Every time Aang was in the air, he wondered how he had stayed away from it so long-- for even a moment. Fog rolled over his back; dew meant for the morning ground stuck to his skin. He could feel himself changing a bit as the joy overtook him, and he suppressed it with an inhale, shooting further upwards to avoid being seen. The pressure and the amount of oxygen changed as he ascended, but to the levels his body was built for. The air was cold, but it was clean; cleaner than what he had been breathing for the last few days down on the streets of the city. His wings beat the air once, twice, bringing him to a hover, and even his blood felt aerodynamic as it moved through his body. Aang tipped his head back, laughing, letting his voice ring up into the atmosphere.

He whooped, letting himself plummet and soar, looking through the clouds to the lights of the city below. As much as he missed the sky, the neon and the concrete were growing on him. There was so much he had never seen, so much he _needed_ to see. He had been on Earth for three years now and never left New York State.

Aang dipped and twirled, pulling himself back into cloud cover with the help of a gust from over the Atlantic. He didn’t regret leaving, and the rest of the folks back home must have decided it _was_ the right path for him. They hadn’t come to get him, and he hadn’t been shot out of the sky or smote for his rebelliousness. It had to be the right path— he was learning so much. He had so much more to learn. He needed time to grow up _in_ this imperfect world, not just looking down _on_ it. Which was half the reason for these nighttime excursions.

When Aang had had his fill of the upper air, he started his descent— alternating between plunging abruptly and hovering as he scoped out where he wanted to land. It was hard to keep track of city blocks from above the clouds, after all. When he found a tall, flat-topped building, he landed softly, watching for security guards and cameras. Then he flew to the next tallest building, and the next, until he was back to the ground. Aang ripped open the plastic cover of his rain poncho with his teeth, flinging it over himself. In place of wraps and hoodies, this would do. Plus, he might have to make a quick getaway. Once he was thoroughly disguised, Aang went looking for some sinners.

—————————————————————————————————————

“Katara, this is the _best_ tea in the city— we won’t be late, I promise— come _on_ ,” Aang begged, pulling Katara down the hall. She giggled.

“Hate to break it to you, Aang, but I’ve been in the city a lot longer than you,” she replied. Aang paused, but she smiled broadly. “So I guess I’ll have to be the judge of that.” He beamed again and took her elbow, rounding the corner. The pair made their way down the crumbling East stairs of their dorm, off campus, and a few blocks South.

“You’ve been here before, right?” Katara asked, rubbing her shoulders. She had decided on a blue tank with a white mesh top and was regretting it in the late September air. “You know where it is?” Aang grinned.

“Of course! Here, see the sign?” Sure enough, a round green sign with gold embossing read _The Jasmine Dragon_ , hanging above the street and pointing to a hole-in-the-wall café that was pumping chamomile-scented steam out its side. It had a matching green and gold awning and a few chairs and tables out front, all of which were occupied. The glass of the storefront was fogged up, and inside, fat pastries sat in rows in their cases. A small child had drawn a heart in the fog, and it was dripping down the other side of the window.

“Okay, I take it back.” As Katara opened the door, a sprig of bells jingled above her. The café was packed with booths, cases, patrons, and the fragrant combination of many types of tea. The wall behind the counter was plastered with what Katara estimated to be 200 kinds of tea, each described below their name in someone’s leaning, scratchy handwriting.

“Dang, Iroh must have added a few new flavors since I was here last!” Aang said behind her, brushing against her mesh-clad shoulders. He was warm and starchy-laundry-smelling, as always, and Katara leaned back into him just slightly. There were probably twelve other people in the tiny shop, but a voice from under the counter called out back to Aang.

“You’re correct, Aang!” It replied, and its owner popped up over the oak countertop. He was a portly, cloudy-bearded old man wearing a green and gold apron. His hands were pink, lightly blistered from years of hot teacups and kettles, and he had a smudge of flower on his left shoulder. But what Katara noticed first about the man was his eyes— they were small, surrounded by crows’ feet wrinkles from years of smiling and laughing. They were the eyes of someone who was truly happy. “We just got a shipment of White Dragon Bush leaves in! And as long as they don’t turn out to be White Jade instead, there should be no deaths in the shop today,” he chuckled, tugging his beard. Katara decided she liked him.

“I’ll have my usual, Iroh,” Aang said good-naturedly. Iroh whipped out a crumpled notepad and turned to Katara.

“And for the lady?”

“What do you recommend?” Katara had had to read two Jane Austen novels last night for her Gender and Sexuality Studies class, and she wasn’t sure she could get through even the first ten flavors of tea above the man— _Iroh’s_ — head. His wrinkly eyes lit up.

“Oh! A first timer, of course!” He smiled. “Well, you can of course never go wrong with classic jasmine. But if you want something a bit more relaxing and refreshing, may I suggest the fall ginger-jasmine blend?”

“I’ll take both, actually. I suppose I should try the namesake of the shop, shouldn’t I?” She opened her purse, but Iroh stopped her.

“First order is free, dear.”

“Oh— thank you!”

The pair finished their order and sat at the nearest booth, and soon Iroh brought over their drinks. Katara carefully blew on hers, eyeing Aang over the edge of the mug. He was looking at her right back, but not in a creepy way. She allowed herself to admire his grey eyes for a moment, then let out a deep sigh and sat back against the green leather upholstery. 

“Aang, I want to talk to you about something,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. Aang’s eyebrows raised as he finished his sip of tea.

“Oh? What?” He tilted his head to the side like a puppy. Katara felt a rush of affection.

“Well, of course Sokka and I see you as a friend— a good friend,” she began, tripping over her words a bit. She took a deep breath. “You’re part of our little family here. And this is going to sound creepy, but he and I have both come to your room looking for you— like, on multiple occasions— and knocked a bunch, but you didn’t answer. But we know you’re there ‘cause you said you’d be, and you’re not with Toph or Zuko, and it just doesn’t make sense—” she paused to catch her breath, not meeting Aang’s eyes. “And you always refuse late-night study sessions.” She pushed a hair out of her face, watching Aang’s usual easy mile morph to a forced one. “Are you going somewhere? You’re totally allowed to have other friends, you know. It just feels like you’re hiding something.” A beat of silence passed. Aang sipped his tea.

“I’m— I go on these walks,” he said cautiously. “I love being out at night in the city. Just… walking around. It clears my head.” He took another sip of tea, showing that was all he had to say. Katara sighed. She could tell Aang was partly telling the truth, but still hiding something. Still _lying_ , to a certain degree.

“Okay,” she replied, measuredly. “But you can talk to me about anything, you know?” She absently hugged herself. “I didn’t have a lot of friends in high school. Pretty much only Sokka, and whatever girls he was dating. It’s good to have you.” Aang ducked his head to meet her eyes.

“It’s good to have you too.” He smiled, his warmth back full force, and the hum returned to Katara’s chest. “And I know it doesn’t really mean anything, but for what it’s worth, you’re definitely my best friend.” He slid his hand across the table, and Katara took it. Even if Aang was hiding something, it could never be anything _bad_. She trusted him, completely.

“You’re my best friend too.”

—————————————————————————————————————

That night, Aang’s escape was more frantic. He hated being frantic; he prided himself on being a calm, patient, even down-to-earth— however ironic that was— type of guy. But waiting the usual hour after sunset was torture today. His wings throbbed, itched, shivered of their own accord. He lay on his stomach and stared at the wall, Appa thrown over his back. He didn’t even try to open his laptop and start any work. Once an hour had passed and it was sufficiently dark, he made it to the rooftop in record time. Katara’s words were echoing in his mind: _family_. _You’re hiding something. Best friend._ He shook his head to clear it as he took off, rocketing skyward, feeling the air cutting between his every feather. As usual, the clouds comforted him: they were quiet. Meandering. Breathy. But even the peace at the top of the city couldn’t get some burning questions out of his mind— was _this_ what he was meant to be doing? Making attachments to humans? Growing fonder of Earth? Most of his people moved between the realms as they needed to, for their work, but none he knew of ever started lives down here. All _cared_ for humans, sure, but did any _love_ them? Was it even possible, or right, to love humans and to love being on Earth?

When he was finished flying, he descended onto a building uptown on West 131st Street, in Harlem. He had been fighting a Southern draft from the Hudson River, so he sat for a moment on the concrete to catch his breath before he pulled up his hood. He never allowed himself out _just_ to fly— he also had to be doing research, or field work, or heavenly superhero shenanigans, or whatever he wanted to call it.

Easily hopping off the roof’s ledge, he hooked his legs around the gutter pipe and slid down a few stories, keeping his body pressed close against the wall. He walked a few blocks North, only coming upon a few people shuffling home. His wings were easily concealed under his rain poncho, and the passersby didn’t spare him a glance, keeping their heads down and their coats tight against the chill. The chill Aang felt gnawing at his bare fingers. He kept walking.

A few more blocks passed before Aang found anything interesting. Tonight, ‘interesting’ came in the form of a scuffle between some teenage boys. Aang heard them swearing and arguing from around the corner of a building, and he slipped behind them, under the streetlight they occupied. The biggest boy, backed up by three of his friends, was yelling at a group of four other boys. Aang frowned as one out of the group of four stepped forward, throwing a punch across the biggest boy’s jaw. _That_ was definitely a mistake.

The boy hardly flinched from the punch and wasn’t even close to thrown off his stance. He spat, grinning at the group of four, and said something low and inaudible to his friends. Aang crouched, waiting. One of the larger boys cracked his knuckles and tackled one of the others, raining punches at his opponent’s face. Aang cringed but still waited. It wasn’t his time yet. A larger fight broke out between the groups; it was a surprisingly equal match, as the smaller group of four still had an extra member. Aang needed to see if the fight would resolve itself.

This time, unfortunately, it didn’t. Aang heard the unmistakable sound of a switchblade opening, and then the much worse groan of a boy who had just been cut. Immediately, he stepped into the light.

“Whoa— who are—” Aang held up a hand, silent. The boy who had been on the wrong end of the switchblade was doubled over, making a bad noise. The opposing groups separated as Aang moved between them.

“Listen, dude, we got it taken care of, so you can just fuck off to wherever—” Aang cut off the biggest boy with a raised hand. He knelt by the injured boy, keeping his hood over his face.

“Can you lay back?” He asked quietly. The boy nodded, but his face was pale. Slowly, he stretched out, balling his fists by his side. There was a long tear in his shirt over his stomach that revealed a wound deeper than Aang had expected. Blood was seeping outward, staining the boy's basketball jersey. Aang lowered his hand, palm down, and allowed it to hover over the stab. The boy started to say something, probably protest, but Aang inhaled, and he felt the light fill his hand. He let the energy within him pool in his palm, and then he let it out.

Truthfully, he missed this too. In a different way than flying, of course, but he missed feeling the light on his skin. He missed the glow, the power, the miracle of it all. As the boys yelled and cowered away from the bright light, he transferred his energy to the boy’s stomach.

Aang could feel the light, an extension of himself, seeping into the wound, pulling it back together. The boy gasped. Aang stood, pulling his hood tighter over his face, and nodded to the boy on the ground. Then, as the group of fighters stood still in shock, he slipped back around the brick corner and into the dark.

That night, besides healing the teenage boy, Aang prevented two muggings, scared off an abusive ex-husband, and turned a suffocating baby onto its back, tickling it to make it laugh and restart its lungs. The bad part about being him was the part about being drawn to danger. Drawn to pain, to suffering, to death. But the good part was the times he could stop it. More than often, there were demons or other denizens of Hell involved— ones who had slipped up from the cracks between the realms and come to wreak havoc where they could. Aang hated dealing with demons, especially city ones, who were scrabbly and nasty and always wanted to take a bite out of him. Sending them back where they came from took more out of him each time.

Tonight, mercifully, there had been no demons to dispel; not even any protesting spirits or wayward poltergeists. At least not in the thirty blocks he had patrolled. But Aang was still tired; being a full-time college student and angel will do that. Consequently, he wasn’t checking behind him as he searched for a convenient fire escape. Aang closed his hand around the lowest rung and swung himself up, expecting to land easily and begin his ascent. But mid-swing, something caught him on the leg. Something he hadn’t sensed coming.

It tore him off the side of the building and slammed him to the ground, crushing his wings painfully under his bodyweight. Aang struggled to breathe, craning his neck up to see his attacker while trying to keep his hood up over his face. A person— a lanky, black-clad person— crouched by his feet, armed with a knife, face hidden by a blue mask carved to look like a Japanese spirit, grotesquely smiling. Something about the mask set off alarm bells in Aang’s brain, and he rolled onto his feet, letting his wings unfurl behind him. Hopefully that would give this mugger guy a good scare. Horrifyingly, however, the masked man just tilted his head to the side, as if smirking. Then he lunged.

Aang leapt to the side, wings fluttering for balance but still sore from their concrete landing. His assailant stepped forward again, swinging his knife in an arc meant for Aang’s stomach, but he bent his whole body backward at just the right time to avoid it. The masked man growled and the two began a vicious fistfight— a one-sided fistfight, since Aang was only dodging, not hitting. His mind was still catching up to his body: this person _knew_ what he was, because they had to, and they weren’t scared. They weren’t even amazed. Maybe it wasn’t a person. It could be a real spirit, a vengeful one, or— _of course_. Aang had heard rumors in the few months he had been on the streets here, among those who knew about the world beyond the mortal realm. Clairvoyants, priests, whatever you wanted to call them; people who had recognized Aang for what he was and had some information to pass onto him. They had said there was an assassin— _the Blue Spirit_ , they called him—

“Hey! Wait!” Aang ducked again, but the spirit kept swinging. “Wait, are you the Blue Spirit?” Aang sidestepped, pulling his wings behind him. The Blue Spirit just threw another jab. “Wait! I’ve heard about you!” Aang dodged. “I know you don’t talk, but I think we have something in common!” The Spirit seemed frustrated. He crouched again, catching his breath, before sprinting forward with his knife. “Whoa— no, we can be friends! I know we can!” He ducked again. “You kill demons, right?” The Spirit stiffened. Aang held his hands up. Maybe if he gave the guy a sign of peace, they could have a proper conversation. “Stop attacking me. Seriously. I’m an angel! We gotta have similar motives here.” In the moment he put his guard down, the Blue Spirit pinned him to the brick wall by the neck, pressing his forearm into Aang’s trachea. Aang spluttered.

“Trust me. _We don’t_.” The Blue Spirit growled. His voice was low, husky, and dangerous; it was also younger than Aang expected. The Spirit lifted his other arm up— the arm with the knife— and Aang wriggled, kicking his legs out and pushing the Spirit away from him. He beat his wings once, powerfully, and he saw the other man hesitate. A tiny crack in the façade. Aang stepped forward, hopeful, but then—

A fist caught him in the jaw. A bare fist— the masked man was completely covered except for his hands. The skin-to-skin contact was what did it. He could feel the darkness sharply, starkly, painfully against him. It was like pins and needles, or an instant bruise; an indescribably terrible feeling.

But not an unfamiliar one.

He recoiled, shaking, and his opponent did the same.

“ _You’re a_ _demon_?” He hissed, holding a hand to his jaw. The demon in question was holding his hand to his chest, certainly feeling the inverse effects of having just punched an angel. “What— what are you—” He cut off, seeing that the Blue Spirit had stilled. He was just… staring. Then Aang realized: his hood had fallen off as he fell back. His whole face was visible. In one moment, he made a decision— Aang ripped his hood back over his head and then beat his wings once, twice, three times, rocketing upward and away from whatever mess of a situation he had just gotten into.

—————————————————————————————————————

The Blue Spirit slid down the wall of the building, pressing his masked face to his hands and pulling his knees in. He was _fine_. This was _fine_. So what if he happened to accidentally already be well acquainted with New York City’s new resident angel? He groaned, bouncing his forehead off his knees. How did he not see it before? It made perfect sense. Horribly bubbly personality. Perfectly clear skin. Sneaking off, as Sokka had mentioned. Shaved head, which apparently wasn’t just a rumor about angels. Cagey about his past but also the most welcoming, lovely, perfectly _perfect_ guy. He even wore _yellow_ all the time, just like a fucking angel would. The Blue Spirit sighed long and hard, pushing all the air out of his lungs. Then he tore off his mask, slamming it to the pavement beside him.

Zuko let his head hit the wall, gulping in fresh air as his gaze drifted to the barely-there stars above the city. _He was friends with an angel. He was taking classes with an angel_. _He had walked to the dining hall before his stupid 8am stats class to grab coffee with his literal natural_ _enemy. And he had had no idea._

Suddenly, he sat up. Sure, maybe _Zuko_ had been stupid enough not to realize Aang’s true identity, but who said _Aang_ didn’t know his? They might not have touched, but maybe angels could smell out demons or use their goody-goody powers to detect them. But that wouldn’t explain why Aang only realized the Blue Spirit was a demon _after_ he took that (admittedly excellent) uppercut. Zuko relaxed, just a tiny bit. It was definitely possible Aang knew. But it was also definitely possible Aang didn’t. For now, he just had to assume the second was the case— and keep it that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mystery! Intrigue!
> 
> Action is hard to write. Sorry. Not super Zukka heavy. Sorry. But my favorite chapter so far is coming up soon and I think you guys will like it too!
> 
> Drop a comment or some kudos if you liked it. Thanks for reading!


	4. Zuko's First Party

CHAPTER 4: ZUKO’S FIRST PARTY

—————————————————————————————————————

One thing Sokka had learned over the past two months was that Zuko moved around a lot in his sleep. He had picked the top bunk on the first day as if he didn’t know that he kicked like a rabbit. Which, admittedly, maybe he didn’t. Sokka had gotten used to it, just like he had gotten used to Katara’s screaming and crying and snoring after she was born. But Zuko was much worse than Katara had ever been— he even mumbled in his sleep, incomprehensibly, in slightly panicked fragments of sentences. Sokka didn’t mention it.

On this night in late October, however, Zuko was shuffling and readjusting and shifting more than ever— and he wasn’t even asleep yet. Sokka blinked hard a few times, trying to tune it out. Cue more shuffling. Cue Zuko stubbing his toe against the bedframe and pretty much failing to stifle a whine of pain. Sokka sat up.

“What is up with you?” He said into the dark. Zuko stilled.

“Nuthin.”

“Bullshit. Are you cold?” Sokka had noticed Zuko breaking out the winter wear, and it wasn’t even November. Zuko harrumphed.

“No.”

“Oh really?” Sokka leant back. “You’re just a sweater guy and happen to consistently shiver in your sleep?”

“I have fashion, thank you, and I don’t _shiver,_ ” Zuko sniffed from above. Sokka could picture perfectly the disgusted little look on his face.

“But you _are_ cold,” Sokka added.

“A little. Aren’t you?” Zuko huffed. “The heat in these dorms is shit.”

“I grew up here. The heat in my apartment was shit too.” Sokka’s joke fell flat.

“Oh.”

A long moment passed, and then Zuko heaved himself over the edge of the bunk bed, landing easily and disturbingly quietly.

“I need a smoke.” He crossed to the window, flipping it open and lighting a loose cigarette from the pencil cup on his desk. Sokka sat up again, flopping his legs over the side of the bed.

“I thought you said your uncle lived in the city,” he said. “I guess I assumed you grew up here too.”

Zuko exhaled a thin line of smoke out the window. He was shirtless, and his arms and elbows and ribs were hard and pale as he leaned on the sill.

“Where, then? Somewhere warm?”

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” Zuko chuckled. “Uh, I’m from LA.” He didn’t meet Sokka’s eyes, opting instead for another long drag out the window.

“The city of angels, huh?”

“More like the city of smog, highways, and coke,” Zuko said, deadpan. Sokka laughed.

“Ok, I’m writing that down.”

“I really don’t understand why an engineering student is taking a comedy class, for real.” Sokka scrabbled under the bed, looking for some loose paper or a notebook. Zuko turned around, pressing his back to the wall. “It was stupid. Don’t actually write that down. It’s not funny,” he said quickly.

“Of course it is!” Sokka’s head was still under the bed.

“It’s not even mine. My sister said it.” Zuko said sharply. Sokka resurfaced, now solemn. This was eggshell treading territory.

“Oh.” He paused. “You never talk about your sister.”

“You always talk about your sister,” Zuko retorted, turning back to the night air for another pull.

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” Zuko ducked his forehead all the way out. “Sorry.” A few seconds passed, both boys waiting for the other, listening to the distant sirens and shouts of Manhattan.

“I, uh, I get if your past is painful or whatever,” Sokka started, carefully. “But we’re friends now, or whatever. And I feel like I know _you_ , but not much _about_ you.” Zuko inhaled shakily, frowning. “Does that make sense?”

“Do you _need_ to know that much about me?”

“I want to.”

“Fine.” Zuko snapped. “I’m from LA. I’m cold. I smoke. I dress better than you. That’s all you _need_ to know.” He took one last pull and then twisted the end of his cigarette out on the lip of brick out the window.  
  


“It’s not all I _want_ to know,” Sokka said quietly. Zuko scrubbed a hand down his face and then ruffled his hair. His profile was accented by the light coming from the street, his pajama pants tied in a neat bow an inch beneath his navel.

“I’m tired, Sokka.” He looked tired. Sokka lay down, turned away from his roommate, and let it go.

—————————————————————————————————————

The university had eliminated frats three years ago— something about ushering in a new school environment with the new decade of the 1990s— but even though there weren’t frat houses, there were still frat boys. You can take the boy out of the frat, or whatever. As a rule, Zuko avoided these wandering meatheads as much as possible. Unfortunately, Sokka was on the soccer team (pun intended; it had been his whole reason for starting way back in third grade) and thus interacted with the sporty, bud-light-y crowd. He never brought it _into_ their dorm, per se, but often stumbled back smelling of stale, unrefrigerated beer and man sweat and boasting of some beer pong win. Zuko didn’t really mind it.

Of course, he preferred thinking of Sokka as he was in the dorm— wrapped in his grandmother’s old fur quilt, doing tai chi while he watched Netflix on his shitty old laptop, begging to borrow some toothpaste when he ran out. Drinking the tea Zuko had made, even if was lukewarm and bitter and should have made him gag. Pressing his feet into the bottom of Zuko’s mattress from the lower bunk, lifting Zuko’s whole spine and forcing him out of bed on the coldest mornings. Clutching his throat in mock pain when he took a particularly singeing bong rip. Staying away from the tough questions. Being boyish, and blue, and warm, even in their godforsakenly _freezing_ little room.

Zuko _did_ mind, however, being dragged along to one of these parties the night before two of his midterm papers were due.

“Come _on_ , Sparky! I wanna meet more people. And I want you to meet more people.” Toph declared, punching Zuko in the arm. They were walking across the quad to a dorm with a famous party basement. It was already dark and Zuko already felt nauseous. “You need more friends,” she sniffed.

“What are we, chopped liver?” Katara chirped from behind them. Toph snickered.

“Well, _you_ definitely are.” Katara gave her a shove— but a playful one, Zuko noticed. Progress.

Sokka skipped up next to them. “Toph’s right, as usual. You guys’ve been so busy working and stuff that you never got the chance to meet the team!” He nudged Zuko. “Or really anyone outside of our hall, for that matter.”

“I love meeting new people!” Aang interjected.

“I think you’ve introduced yourself to everyone on campus already, twinkletoes,” Toph said. Zuko huffed.

“I have to do a few final edits on my paper.” Sokka rolled his eyes.

“Come on, dude, I read that over like five times for you—”

“Says the _engineer_ —”

“It’s spotless. You deserve to celebrate!” Before Zuko could shoot back another clever excuse, Toph’s cane clacked decidedly against the stoop of their destination.

“We’re here, Sparky. No turning back now!” She cackled. Zuko’s head shot up. The door to the dorm in question was guarded by a pair of identical twins— muscly, lanky dudes with spiky hair. They turned to the group, frowning.

“You losers trying to get in?” One barked. Sokka made to push forward, but Toph straightened, flicking him back.

“Actually, we losers _are_ trying to get in. Step aside, Wei Jin,” she declared. The twin in question bristled.

“I’m Jin Wei!”

—————————————————————————————————————

Inside, Sokka immediately started bro-hugging people and calling out progressively more ridiculous nicknames in greeting. Zuko kept his head down. Katara and Aang migrated to the kitchen, probably to raid it for snacks they could squirrel back to the dorm. The music was thumping in the pit of Zuko’s stomach, and he could feel the vibe of the whole place intoxicating him. All seven sins were present tonight, and he could feel them welcoming him as an equal.

He flexed his fingers and blinked, trying to clear his head. Toph tugged Zuko’s sleeve.

“Hey, is there a beer pong table around?” She asked.

“Can you… I mean, how would you—could you even play beer pong?”

“Maybe not, but I’ve always wanted to try!” Zuko shrugged— who was he to tell her what she couldn’t do— and pointed her in the right direction. There were a number of gigantic meatheads currently using the table, but he was sure Toph would elbow her way in somehow.

But regardless of Toph’s party ventures, the whole place was still making him sick. The bass and the alcohol and the people making out in the back rooms itched like the moment before a sneeze. He _wanted_ to sneeze. Very badly. But that would not be good. So, he scrunched his nose and went to find the bathroom.

—————————————————————————————————————

An hour later, Zuko had gotten tired of smoking and staring at the smoke-stained wallpaper and wondering if Sokka was looking for him. He was bored enough that when someone pounded on the door of the bathroom and demanded he open the door, he complied.

The door pounder turned out to be one of the massive dudes from the beer pong table. He introduced himself as The Boulder and explained with shocking politeness that Zuko’s “little blind friend” was drinking the rugby captain under the table and that he was getting slightly worried. The Boulder was also shirtless, smeared in green body glitter, and shitfaced. Zuko went with him.

The Boulder was not a liar. His friend, the rugby captain, was on his elbows on the beer pong table. Zuko could tell from the abandoned solo cups that Toph had probably just challenged this guy to a chug-off or some variation thereof. The woman herself was leaning on her white cane, nonchalant, apparently shit-talking said rugby captain.

“Aw, is Shin Fu a little baby?” She prodded, slurring her words more than a little. “Does Shin Fu need to go night-night? Does he need to tap out?” Shin Fu pressed his forehead to the table and then lifted it, giving Toph a death glare as if she could see it. “Aw, Shin Fu’s so fucked up that he can’t give me a comeback!” The boys surrounding the table roared, slamming their palms flat into the drywall and hollering. Zuko’s blood was hot.

Shin Fu cracked his knuckles. “Oh, I have a comeback alright. But I’m above insulting little blind girls,” he said with an oily grin. Toph’s hair stood on end, and Zuko took a step forward.

“A little blind girl?” She growled. “Well, this little blind girl isn’t even close to tapping out. Two more shots, Hippo?” She cocked her head— or maybe just lost that much more motor control— toward the biggest guy in the room, who also had the smallest amount of hair. ‘Hippo’ grinned, revealing several missing teeth, and poured. Zuko stepped forward again, resting his hand on Toph’s elbow.

“Hey— where are the others?” He said into her ear. She swatted him. “How many drinks have you had?” She cackled, wrapping her pale fingers around the shot glass and knocking it back, exhaling into Zuko’s face.

She couldn’t know what that would do to him, of course. The full force of it— the scent of vodka, of course, but the gluttony, wrath, pride that was wrapped up in it, in every bottle. He shrunk away, trying to get a clean breath. Inhale. Exhale. Zuko’s hands were in fists. _You’re somewhere cold_ , he thought. _You’re in the arctic. Or your dorm room_. _There is no fire fighting to get out of you._

“Jesus fuck,” Shin Fu whined from across the table. He leant forward, nearly stumbling, and got his hand around the shot. He brought it to his mouth and then stopped. Zuko watched in slow motion as the scent hit him and he gagged, dropping the drink onto the already stained table. Toph laughed as he ducked his head. “Fuck it. You’re insane. I’m— I’m fuckin’ done,” he declared, holding his head. The team roared again, louder now, and someone slung a battered medal around Toph’s neck. It looked to be pieced together out of cans and bottlecaps, and the ribbon part was made of brown, sticky rolling papers. Toph kissed it sloppily.

“Our new champion! _The Blind Borracha_!” The Hippo announced, slapping Toph on the back. She cackled, stumbling forward into Zuko far more than she meant to. Zuko steadied her as she reached up to feel the medal and pumped her fist in the air.

When the minute-long screams of celebration had subsided, she tugged Zuko down to her height by the hair. “Hey, Zuko,” she drunkenly whispered.

“Yes, Toph?”

“Can you take me somewhere to die real quick? I don’t wanna die in front of the whole league,” she giggled. Then, she fell directly backward—and, for the sake of not embarrassing her in front of ‘the whole league’, Zuko caught her.

“ _Die_ , _Toph?_ ” He non-drunkenly whisper-screamed. She nodded.

“Yes. Pass… away.” Her head lolled back against his arm as he steered her through the crowd to the bathroom. This was very much not good. He scanned the crowd for any allies, but Sokka must have been smoking in the back, and Katara and Aang had probably already left. Zuko groaned, returning to his fumigated bathroom. He was about to throw open the door when none other than boy fucking wonder emerged from within.

“Zuko! How’s your night—” Aang stopped as he noticed Toph slumped against him.

“Oh shit! Is she okay?” He reached forward and Zuko flinched back.

“Uh— I don’t— I don’t know, I was just taking her in the bathroom—” Aang opened the door and shooed them inside. Zuko carefully propped Toph up against the sink. Her chin fell to her chest, but she was still giggling.

“What happened to her?” Aang asked fervently, shutting the door. _Yay, he was trapped in a party bathroom with a blacked-out teenage girl and an angel._

“Uh, she was in some drinking competition with some guy,” Zuko stuttered, trying to inconspicuously wedge himself into the corner of the bathroom farthest from Aang. “Shin Fu, I think it was.”

“The _rugby captain_?” Aang asked, running a hand over his smoothly shaved head. Zuko remembered how that shaved head had stood out in the light of 119th street at 3am, backed by pearly wings. He licked his lips, feeling panic creep up his throat and constrict his breathing. That, or the cigarettes had finally gotten to him.

“Um, yeah. Look, I think we should find Sokka— or better, Katara, ‘cause she’s pre-med, and—” Zuko had a great excuse set up to get them out of the tiny bathroom, but before he could finish, Toph made a gurgling sound and fell straight forward.

Of course, Zuko didn’t think that Aang would reach out to help her at the same moment as he did. After all, he was at a college party, surrounded by smoke and alcohol and weed and coke and sex, on the surface, pretending to be a normal college student. His stupidity had precedent. It was well established.

So, of course, he reached to grab her, just as Aang did, and Aang’s bare arms touched Zuko’s bare arms, and the vertigo was back. He recoiled. He was falling from a great height, being blinded, feeling prickly and sunburned and high off pure oxygen. Aang, too, was feeling it— just as he had that night at 3am— and flinched back. Toph keeled over, forgotten, slumping into the bathtub with a satisfied groan.

And then it was quiet, and Aang was staring at Zuko with horror and surprise and maybe a little bit of fear, and Zuko was trying his damnedest to look the same back.

“You’re— you’re a—”

“You’re an angel.” _Fake shock, Zuko. Be surprised. Be confused. Come on, come on!_

“You’re a demon.” Aang clapped a hand to his mouth. Toph rolled over in the bathtub, coating herself in some dried men’s body wash and probably worse. A long beat paused as Zuko schooled his features to match Aang’s.

“Shit.” _Shit? That’s all you can come up with? You say_ shit _all the time!_ Zuko was screaming internally. This was absolutely _not_ the plan.

Aang took a deep breath. “You’re a demon.”

“There’s lots of us in New York,” Zuko said hurriedly, waving his hands. _Not a lie._ It was bad if Aang knew he was a demon, but much worse if he knew that he was the Blue Spirit. Aang nodded, still solemnly bewildered.

“I know.” Zuko faked more shock.

“Oh.” A beat passed. “You’re the only angel I’ve met so far.” _Not a lie._ Aang looked up. His eyes’ usual cloudy gray— such an _angel_ color— was brighter than usual. Zuko swallowed dryly. He hadn’t technically lied at all so far, so things were going better than they could be.

“Same,” Aang said dumbly. He attempted a grin, and Zuko didn’t have to fake shock.

“Um… are you going to, like, exorcise me?” He asked, his tone betraying his legitimate fears. Aang shrugged.

“I don’t even know how.” More genuine shock. Zuko had been sure that angels were either born with the innate ability or were taught it very early on.

“Really?”

“Uh, yeah.” This was probably the awkwardest conversation of Zuko’s life, which was saying something. Better awkward than deadly, he supposed. “But don’t tell anyone,” Aang added quickly. Zuko held his hands up in surrender.

“Don’t have anyone to tell,” he said truthfully. Aang cocked his head.

“What are you doing on the surface?” He asked. Zuko felt his whole body seize.

“What are _you_ doing on the surface?” He countered. Aang averted his gaze. _There’s definitely a story there. Angels certainly aren’t supposed to be hanging out with humans, much less going to college with them._

“Uh, it’s a long story,” Aang replied, scratching his head. Zuko could work with this.

“Mine is too.” _Not a lie._ He threw a look at Toph, who was beyond dead to the world, fiddling with her medal of illicit substances. So much for the war on drugs. “Look, there’s a reason I’m here.” Aang nodded, and Zuko could see what looked like understanding in his expression.

“Uh, same.” Thank _God_ , no matter the irony.

“I know you don’t have a reason to trust me or anything, but I—” Zuko cleared his throat— “I left that life behind.” _Not a lie._ I guess you did too.” Aang’s face clenched.

“I guess I did.”

“Okay.” Zuko had practiced for this. For the inevitable confrontation. There was no way he could go after Aang, not now, not after he had become friends with him. There was only one option, even if it directly disobeyed the Bible and God and Lucifer and everything that the universe was built on. “Truce?”

Aang took a deep, calculating breath. “Truce.”

On cue, Toph threw up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay slightly more information about the angel/demon logistics! But not really!
> 
> I tried spinning the “being a demon” experience to be a bit like being an addict, at least in this scene. Also drink responsibly please. Also, Wei Jin and Jin Wei are the founders of the tribes from The Great Divide, which gets too much flack. Also, borracha means like heavy drinker or drunkard, in the female.
> 
> Also, I wrote this instead of applying to college. But I haven’t been able to take the SAT and all my grades are fucked because of coronavirus. And I’m probably not going to have a senior year, so I’m living vicariously through Toph Beifong’s party antics. 
> 
> Sorry for that mini rant. If you liked it, please leave a comment or some kudos! Thanks for reading! 
> 
> (Also, all of your comments already mean so much to me, by the way. Like, so much. Thank you.)


	5. The Serpent's Pass

**CHAPTER 5: THE SERPENT’S PASS**

After depositing Toph on Katara, hoping that the latter wouldn’t choose this opportunity to murder the former, Zuko made a hasty exit. Aang had enough sense not to try to stop him. Outside, the air was crisp and cold, but not enough to wash off the sticky grime of the party air. It was all over him, seeping into his skin. _Cigarette. Need a cigarette._ But his fingers shook too badly to light it and the other stragglers hanging around the stoop weren’t keen to help him. He went back to the dorm.

Once in the safe confines of his (and Sokka’s) room, Zuko attempted a few deep breaths. Aang knew he was a demon. Aang had explicitly said he didn’t want any trouble. Aang seemed benign, no matter how he had fought a few nights ago against the ‘Blue Spirit.’ Admittedly, Zuko had never fought an angel before. He had never even _met_ an angel before, only heard stories of them in his father’s war room or from his sister after dark. They were meant to have thousands of eyes, and be completely feathered, and able to suck the soul out of a demon with ease. Their skin was supposed to be cold, and cracked, and poisonous. Touching Aang had hurt, but it didn’t melt his arm off or kill him straight out. So what, if any of it, had even been true?

Before he knew it, Zuko was hyperventilating. His new way of life— wearing leather jackets, attending Gender Studies lectures, visiting his uncle on the weekends, forgetting about that _old_ way of life— was suddenly just a farce. An ironic, pathetic lie, a desertion of who he really was. He sank to the floor, grinding his fists into his eyes— or _eye_ , he corrected, and whatever remained of the other side of his face. What an unflinchingly constant reminder of everything he had ever done wrong.

He wished Iroh were here. He was glad Iroh wasn’t here. He’d tell Zuko, “ah, you doubt your new life because you knew nothing but hate in your old one,” or something, which was total bullshit, because Zuko should _thrive_ on hate, should _breathe_ it, and Iroh should too. They were both lying to themselves.

He fumbled, fumbled, and finally found his loose cigarette from earlier, clamping it between his lips. But his hands were still shaking horribly and his lighter was total shit anyway. Zuko threw it across the room with just slightly superhuman force, and it shattered, denting the wall over Sokka’s desk. _Fuck_. He’d have to come up with an excuse for that. And buy a new lighter. Zuko shuffled away from the wall. Nobody was here. A tiny infraction couldn’t hurt— and it had been taunting him all night, itching up his fingers, begging to get out of his throat. He inhaled, swiping his tongue across the end of the cigarette, producing the tiniest spark. Just enough to catch. His breathing mellowed before he even took the first drag. It had never been about the cigarette. It was shameful.

Someone pounded on the door and Zuko startled, releasing a small shout of surprise— which, of course, reopened the dam in the back of his throat, and with the shout he released a thin plume of orange fire. Zuko watched in slow motion as it caught the bottom of one of Sokka’s sweatshirts, hanging off the corner of the bunk bed. He yelped, and the door opened, and there was Sokka, holding his dented ring of keys, looking too drunk to be surprised by or afraid of a minor sweatshirt fire. Before he could step forward and attempt something stupid with subpar motor skills, Zuko whipped the sweatshirt off the post and stamped it out on the ground. Thank god they didn’t have carpet.

“Whoa!” Sokka declared, just a millisecond too late. A human wouldn’t have been able to smell the alcohol on his breath, but Zuko could. He stumbled a step forward. “Hoodie on fire!” Sokka stumbled again, right into Zuko’s heaving chest. The drunk boy was warm, even coming in from the cold.

“Sorry. Lighter mishap,” Zuko stuttered, trying to keep the ash out of his voice. Sokka flopped his head on Zuko’s shoulder, his ponytail tickling Zuko’s jawline. Suddenly, he was much warmer than before.

“You’re always having those, buddy,” Sokka mumbled, and then his _nose_ was in Zuko’s neck, and Zuko needed some space.

“You’re drunk, dude. Go to bed.”

Sokka shook his head, stepping back. “No! Followed you home,” he said through a burp, “to talk. Why’d you leave?” Zuko sighed and pushed Sokka onto the bottom bunk.

“Not my scene,” he said simply. Sokka pouted and Zuko looked away, opting instead to help his roommate remove his shoes.

“Coulda been your scene. IF you wanted,” Sokka said pleadingly, lying back. Zuko pulled the covers up over him and felt a matching blanket of guilt fall over himself.

“I’m sorry. I… I don’t know if it could have been.” Something was close to breaking in Zuko’s throat, and he really, really hoped it was just tears, not fire. “Get some sleep.”

Zuko hit the lights and hopped into his own bunk, pulling off his leather jacket and flopping onto his back in one movement. Sokka was uncharacteristically quiet. And then there was a creak on the ladder.

“Are— are you up here?” He said in the dark.

“Yes, Sokka,” Zuko groaned. “Go back to bed.” Sokka pouted and did the exact polar opposite. He hoisted himself up over the edge of the top bunk and landed, heavily, on Zuko’s feet. “Sokka. That is not back to bed.”

“I’m sorry I made you come along,” Sokka admitted, sitting up and immediately bonking his head on the ceiling. The dorm beds were thinner and shorter than even Zuko’s first bed in Iroh’s first Bronx apartment— in fewer words, all of Sokka was very close to all of him.

“It’s okay. It was mostly Toph anyway,” Zuko said carefully, trying to be dismissive, to give even stupidly drunk Sokka the hint that the conversation was over and that he should go back to the bottom bunk.

“Nah, we planned it,” Sokka said, shuffling. Despite himself, Zuko chuckled.

“You planned it?” Sokka looked up, frowning.

“Yeah.”

“You and Toph made a plan to coerce me into going to a single, stupid party?” Sokka wrinkled his nose.

“Well, yeah. Hopefully it was gonna turn into several parties if you liked this one.” Invading Zuko’s space even more, he wiggled onto his side, curled at the bottom of the bed.

“Well, sorry I didn’t like this one.”

“I didn’t see you all night.”

“I was in the bathroom,” Zuko admitted. Sokka seemed to take immediate offense, and his mouth flapped like a fish.

“Wh— but why?” For the apparent purpose of getting a better audience with his roommate, he squirmed all the way up the side of the bed, so that he was facing Zuko on his side. “Why be in the bathroom when you could be at the party?”

Zuko shrugged, trying so, so hard to keep several inches between their bodies. The problem was, there were not several inches to spare. “Parties just aren’t my thing. Big parties, that is. Too many people I know, too many people I could embarrass myself in front of,” he said truthfully.

“So you wouldn’t mind embarrassing yourself in front of people you don’t know or have the chance to interact with in the future?” Sokka said mischievously.

“Only you use the word ‘interact’ while drunk.”

“I mean it.”

Zuko shrugged again. “Guess not.” Sokka smiled, closing his eyes.

“And thusly, I have another plan.” And promptly, he went to sleep.

Zuko spent the next half hour trying to slide out of his own bed without alerting Sokka’s subconscious, who seemed to be intent on wrapping a leg around him or throwing an arm over him or shifting to block his exit every time Zuko so much as breathed too deeply. And Zuko was tired. And Sokka was a furnace— albeit a soccer-jerseyed, alcohol-drenched, distractingly muscular, still-tanned-from-summer furnace— that Zuko could get used to. So eventually he gave up, and let Sokka’s subconscious tangle their legs together and press his nose back into his neck. With Sokka’s breath on his collarbone, he fell asleep with an empty mind for the first time in many years.

—————————————————————————————————-

Aang was getting antsy. Katara and Sokka suspected it was the cold, the cooped-up-edness and the studying and the broken radiators. He couldn’t sneak off as much with finals approaching, and since he now required a coat and a hat to go anywhere. Katara and Sokka made endless fun of Aang and Zuko, who were always complaining about the cold. Toph never complained, just shivered in silence or grumbled under her breath. Nobody was really sure where she was from, and they were all a bit too afraid to ask, so it was unclear whether she had been above or below the Mason-Dixon Line— what Zuko called the ‘equator of the United States’— in her childhood.Actually, that was a lie. Katara knew. Once she and Toph had grown to stand each other, Toph had sheepishly asked if Katara could read her a letter.

“Who writes you letters?” Katara had asked, not looking up from her bunk. “That’s pretty stupid, if you can’t read them.” A long beat had passed.

“My parents.” Katara snorted.

“And here I thought you were raised by wolves,” she had said, but sat up, swinging her legs over her quilt and to the floor. She stopped short when she saw Toph standing there, holding the letter, hiding behind her bangs. Katara had swallowed. “But if your parents write you letters you can’t read, they don’t sound much better. Give it here.”

All in all, the letter had been… boring. Her mother played mahjong with her friends. Her father was still successful in banking. Her cat— “ _you have a cat?_ ” “ _A horrible cat_ ”— was fat and happy. There hadn’t been a single question about Toph, or college, or the city. The letter was postmarked from a small town in Minnesota. Katara promised not to tell anyone.

So the Toph problem was nearly resolved, but the Aang problem had worsened.

And eventually, Aang got too comfortable, and did exactly what he had promised himself he wouldn’t.

—————————————————————————————————-

It happened the same way Katara had met him in the first place— with Momo dashing out of the dorm to find Appa for a snuggle. Katara loped along behind the cat with much less fervor than she had on move-in day, since she knew where he was headed. But as she pushed open the door, just a few paces after Momo, she stopped short— not as she had the first time she saw Aang, when she noticed he was pretty and kind of glowing and a ray of sunlight all packed in a dorm room, but now as the first time she _truly_ saw Aang. He was shirtless, with those baggy pants on, leaning on the windowsill, looking down at the city through the blinds. And without his usual yellow sweatshirt, Katara could see his wiry teenage muscles, bunched along his back— and she could also see his wings.

They were white, bright, nearly painful to look at, and gigantic— feathered, of course, and gently twitching, rising with his breath. He was stretching— that was Katara’s first thought— and the tips of his wings brushed the walls of the room, easily seven feet long each. There were lines of bunchy muscle beneath the swaths of white feathers, and every fiber of Aang seemed to _actually_ be glowing this time, radiating light and warmth and something happy, as if his normal volume of positive energy had been dialed up. Katara couldn’t help it. She gasped.

Aang spun around, his wings beating once before pulling closed across his back. His eyes widened. He jammed the blinds closed and then brushed past Katara, who was still paralyzed with shock, shutting the door, all while blurting fragmented sentences.

“Hey, I’m sorry, this isn’t what it looks like, I have a— these are just—”

“Wings,” Katara breathed. “Wings.” Aang rubbed the back of his neck, looking around for his sweatshirt with fervor.

“Um, well, they’re a costume— they have a pulley thing that attaches to my arms, uh, I can show you later, I just—” Katara reached out to Aang’s back, running a finger along the top edge of his left wing. It was soft, and sleek, and warm. It shivered.

“That’s not a costume.”

Aang and Katara made eye contact, and something about Aang glowed a little harder, something in his eyes, something deep and ancient, somehow a perfect contrast and a perfect agreement with the rest of him, with the naive and the 18-year-old. His grey eyes were nearly white, like Toph’s, but the opposite of blind— more like all-seeing. Aang looked away first.

“You’re right.” He sat on his bed and let his wings flop out beside him, leaving a white feather on his pillow. He gestured to his desk chair, and Katara took a moment to realize he was asking her to sit. Stutteringly, as if her legs and reality and the truth of existence might betray her, she sat. Aang opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he began.

“I guess I should explain.”

—————————————————————————————————————

Three days later, at breakfast, Katara broke her vow of silence. Kind of. Not really. As she’d put it, she wanted to ‘test the waters.’ Check the reactions. Aang had specifically, quite politely asked her not to do so, but nobody told Katara what to do. Or politely asked Katara. Whatever.

Breakfast was usually quiet, since Toph and Sokka were still grumpily sedate from sleep, Zuko hadn’t even had his first cigarette, and Aang was respectful of morning boundaries. Katara was definitely the chattiest, especially since she had already finished swim practice by the time she met her friends at the dining hall. She ran her fingers through her hair, lifting a spoonful of cheerios to her mouth. She gave Aang a look that she hoped conveyed ‘ _brace yourself and please don’t be mad._ ’

“Are you guys religious?” She asked innocently, stuffing more cheerios in her mouth to force someone else to talk. Sokka raised an eyebrow. Zuko kept his eyes on his eggs. Aang was white.

“My parents are,” Toph said. “Chinese Buddhist. Better than Christian, I guess.” She wrangled a bite of sausage into her mouth and spoke through her food, which was one of Katara’s biggest pet peeves. “But I think religion just means what people want it to mean. Good or bad.” Katara noticed she didn’t specify which her parents used it for. Aang nodded, shooting a glare in her direction.

“That’s a great point, Toph. You should write something about it for Yangchen,” he said, keeping his eyes on Katara. “Speaking of, does anybody wanna go to the library with me after breakfast? I have to grab a copy of—“ He was trying to change the subject, of course.

“Well, Sokka and I weren’t as kids,” Katara interrupted. Sokka looked up, not enthused to be included in the conversation. “But I’ve been thinking more about it lately. And just, like, heavenly beings in general.” She was walking the line here, she could tell. Aang was trying not to look too obviously in her direction but also convey that she had to shut up. Sokka snorted, and Katara could tell she had said something he could make a joke out of.

“Heavenly beings?” He said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Like, angels and demons? Like from the Bible?” Katara shrugged.

“Yeah.” She leant back on the couch into Aang’s arm. Aang pulled it out from behind her with zero subtlety. Sokka was thinking hard.

“Well, I’d definitely _fuck_ a demon.” Katara made a face, Toph snorted, and Aang and Zuko choked on their tea and coffee, respectively.

“Gross, Sokka!” Katara threw her balled-up napkin at him. He caught it, laughing.

“Come on! Who wouldn’t? They’ve gotta know some crazy good moves, right?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Zuko and Toph, whom this strain of humor was formulated for. Toph cackled, morning grumpiness worn off, but Zuko was shockingly red, smiling awkwardly. Whatever. He turned back to Katara, who no doubt needed a logical explanation.

“Imagine showing up to Hell in the afterlife, since let’s face it I’m not going to Heaven—” he put on a fake serious face, crossing himself mockingly— “and you just stroll into the arms of your sugar demon!” Sokka was cracking himself up, and even Katara was laughing now.

“Imagine the brownie points I’d have in Hell! I’d never have to push a rock up a hill or get my entrails pecked out, I’d just get to be dicked down by a demon!” He continued. Katara shook her head.

“This is disgusting. I need some of that,” she said, pouring some of Zuko’s coffee into her own cup. Zuko didn’t seem to notice. Aang was pale, nearly green, in the corner of the booth.

“You know what, Sokka, I’ll actually agree with you on this one,” Toph said, returning to the breakfast at hand, _still_ talking with her mouth full.

“ _Thank you,_ Toph!” Sokka said emphatically, stabbing his fork into his own sausages. Katara laughed despite herself, but Zuko just hmphed, sharing a strange glance with Aang that no one else caught. To Katara’s delight, Aang suddenly broke into a grin, his paleness dissolving, keeping his eyes on Zuko.

“You know what, Sokka? There’s more I need fleshed out about this theory,” He added, his playful eyes on Zuko. Zuko’s jaw tightened. “Please, go on.”

—————————————————————————————————————

Sokka’s favorite club in New York City was the Serpent’s Pass. It was just the right size: big enough to meet people and dance comfortably, but not so large that you’d eventually get carded. Speaking of which, a friend of Katara’s (and thus his) from high school bartended there, so he knew he could get in— and get drinks— without ID. And though Aang protested about the crowd and the noise, and Katara almost backed him up, traitor as she was, eventually the entire group ended up on the subway at 10pm, heading downtown to the Serpent’s Pass. _Two Koi_ was playing, after all— a band Sokka listened to religiously— so there had never been any way out.

“ _Two Koi_?” What’s that even mean?” Zuko groaned at Sokka, who was attempting a stripper move on one of the subway poles. He might be a New York native, but he still liked to have fun. The old lady at the end of the car clutched her purse.

“Dude, I showed you a picture of the album cover! It’s Yin and Yang. Push and pull.” Sokka id some wavy movements with his arms to accentuate the explanation. “It’s, like, the transfer of energy, but in your own body.” Toph nodded.

“Chi. That’s what it called,” she explained, mindlessly unfolding and refolding her white cane with deft flicks of her wrist.

“I’ve heard of that,” Aang added, attempting nonchalance and failing. “But not in the context of rock music, I think.” The bald kid had changed out of his usual yellow sweatshirt and opted for a plain black one that looked suspiciously new. He had declared it “punk”.

“Yeah, I’d bet,” Zuko added, smirking. Aang smiled, but uneasily, and once again Sokka noticed the tension between them. It was as if they had known each other for a long time, somehow.

“Well, none of the impetus of the band matters because they fuckin’ rock regardless,” Sokka said with an air of finality. The subway loudspeaker woman declared something high-pitched and incomprehensible. “And this is our stop!”

—————————————————————————————————————

The Serpent’s Pass was everything Sokka had been craving. They had a tech guy who really knew how to work a light setup and could somehow flash the LEDs on the beat— not to mention some very reasonably priced signature cocktails that didn’t burn as bad as straight tequila. It’s called a “girly drink” because it sucker-punches you after three sips, thank you very much. Sokka would have loved to grab his friends and immediately become one with the crowd, but Katara had other plans.

“Alright, guys, remember to stick together! If you’re lost or something happens, come back to the right end of the bar near the overflowing trash can.” She pointed. Toph cackled.

“I can see it perfectly. Peace, sugar.” All five feet and one inch of her stepped right into the swarm of people, cane tucked under her left arm. Katara turned purple, and Sokka slapped her back good-naturedly.

“Relax, Kat. Have some fun!” He winked. “And if you want anything, I’m sure Haru would go top-shelf for you.”

“Who?” Aang squeaked.

“Haru. Guy with the bad mustache and the long hair. Bartender. Just say you’re with Sokka.” He

paused. “Or better yet, say you’re with Katara.”

“None of us have IDs, dude,” Zuko said. Aang snapped his head up, probably surprised that Sokka had been talking about alcohol. Sokka grinned wolfishly.

“That’s why you ask Haru, and only Haru. Bye, bitches!” And with that, he followed Toph’s lead into the pulsing pit of people.

—————————————————————————————————————

 _Two Koi_ were even more fantastic in person than they were on vinyl, and Sokka didn’t hold back on the dance floor. He stopped for a few drinks, but the heat and haze of the middle of the crowd was addictive. Soon, he was tipsy, and there was a bit of a lag in his vision as his brain caught up to his eyes. He kept dancing.

Surprisingly, the only member of the group keeping up with Sokka’s dancing was Zuko. Aang had some insane acrobatic moves, sure, but he was kind of one-and-done, preferring to hang out by the bar or just dance goofily with Katara. Toph, kickass as she was, happened to be more of a jumping-in-place, headbanging kind of dancer. She repeatedly shouted to Sokka that she could feel the bass so strongly she thought she had gotten her sight back.

Zuko was a different story altogether. In the dark of the dance floor, he whipped his perfectly sweaty hair over his ears, grinned, and got absolutely _filthy_. Not in a personally invasive, creepy way— but he danced with anyone who came up to him. And _lots_ of people came up to him. Some random girl gave him a purpling hickey, her mouth turned into his neck as her back pressed into his leather-jacketed chest. Another bit his shoulder like she wanted to tear off that jacket, and Sokka nearly forgot how to breathe. Even one tall, muscled guy whispered something in Zuko’s ear, something he apparently respectfully declined.

Sokka was grinding on people, getting down, sure, but not in the way Zuko was— the whole-body, rolling-down-and-out kind of way. It was _hot_. For his own safety, Sokka kept his distance. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was caught against Zuko like that, in proximity of that hair and that jaw and those amber eyes.

He swallowed, dryly, and turned to a redhead with a bob who had trailed her hand from his shoulder down his chest. Heat bubbled in his stomach, and he spun her once, leaving his hands on her hips as they danced. She had angular red and white makeup above her eyes and Sokka watched the colors blur to pink as they moved against each other. The music swelled, climbing, as the lead guitarist picked at a ridiculous speed. And then, as the lights changed— that tech guy was a genuine wizard— the bass dropped, launching the song into a keyed-up repeat of the chorus. Sokka let his mouth fall to the redhead’s, tentatively, giving her enough time to back up if she wasn’t interested. But she met him halfway, and then they were curling into each other, making out in time with the lights and the music and the heavy bass. She tugged on the collar of his shirt, letting her nails skim his bare chest underneath. The club was hot, uncomfortably so, but he shivered.

“Bathroom?” Her voice was husky but sweet as her lips brushed his ear. He nodded, kissing her once more as she wove out of the crowd. Sokka turned back to Zuko, who was, inexplicably, already looking. There was heat in those amber eyes, and Sokka had to swallow again. He put on a smirk and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Zuko nodded, rings flashing in the colorful lights as he turned away.

—————————————————————————————————————

The bathroom was exactly as it had been the last time Sokka came to the Serpent’s Pass: blissfully, tastefully, and entirely graffitied. The redhead pulled him in after the first knock, locking the door behind them. And though he had been consumed by the mere vision of Zuko’s rings just a moment ago, now red hair and smeared white makeup were all that was on Sokka’s mind.

“Do you have— do you have a condom?” The girl asked between sloppy kisses.

“Fuck. I don’t.” He pulled back, still panting. “Sorry, I came with friends I didn’t think I was gonna meet anybody—” the girl giggled, even though she was clearly a little disappointed. “I was hoping you might?”

“Nope. Sorry.” She scratched the back of her neck and straightened one of the straps of her deep green dress. Sokka glanced downward and his mind went sideways again.

“Fuck. Well, we can get back out there, or we can, like, make out some more?” He tried to sound smooth. The girl laughed again.

“Sure. I’m Suki, by the way.” He grinned.

“I’m Sokka.” And then they were kissing again.

And then they weren’t, because somebody was pounding on the door with enough fervor that they clearly weren’t just looking for a place to piss. Sokka groaned and turned, ready to face security and make up some bullshit excuse like he always did. He was not ready, however, to face Zuko, flushed from the dance floor and leaning distractingly against the door frame.

“Sokka! Sorry, dude, but somebody jumped on Toph’s foot and she had taken off her shoes to feel the beat or something and she thinks she might have broken some toes—” his eyes focused past Sokka, to Suki, who was peering over his shoulder. “Oh.” Sokka was ready with a joke to dispel the awkwardness, but something beyond unexpected happened, all in one moment. As Zuko caught sight of Suki, Suki caught sight of Zuko, and in one instant yanked him into the bathroom and up against the wall. She wedged her forearm under his chin and, as she actually _lifted_ him off the ground, she slammed his head back into the sharpie-tagged brick wall. _Hard._

“Holy shit— Suki, I know this guy— what are you—” but she wasn’t paying attention. Zuko’s eyes had narrowed, and he left his hands at his side, though his face reddened as he choked.

“What are you doing here?” Suki’s voice was icy, deadly, and she punctuated her statement by pressing her arm harder into Zuko’s trachea.

“Clubbing,” he choked out. Before she could respond, he kicked up from under her, twisting his right leg up and around her arm and bringing them both to the ground.

Sokka flattened himself against the door, debating whether to shout for help. Suki flipped back up, narrowly avoiding nailing her head on the bottom of the sink, and threw a jab at Zuko’s face, which he somehow darted to miss. His eyes, usually a polished gold, were burning.

Maybe Sokka was drunker than he thought, but they seemed to be _literally_ burning— they had reddened, black around the edges, and the now-scarlet of his pupils was churning. Suki threw another punch, and another, but didn’t catch him until she went directly for the left side— the _scarred_ side— and got him in the cheek.

Sokka was on the edge of the action, dodging elbows in the tiny bathroom, still tipsy and still high from the music and the makeout. It was as if the fight was just a bit too fast, like both Suki and Zuko were moving at 1.5 speed and hitting just as hard. It was _dangerous_. He tried to slide between his hookup and his roommate to separate them, but Suki easily shoved him back against the door. In her moment of hesitation, Zuko had the chance to get in a hit, slamming her against the opposite wall.

She grunted, but as Zuko went in for another hit, her hand was up her leg, and there was something glinting, and twisting, and then her hand was pressed against Zuko’s stomach, and then there was a horrible sound, and then there was something sticking out of him. The bathroom stilled as Zuko made a low noise, leaning back and putting his hand to his stomach. Sokka stared, and for a long moment, the only sound was Zuko’s heavy breathing.

“Did— did you just— did you just _stab_ him?” An unmistakable knife handle was sticking out of Zuko’s stomach in between his white-knuckled fingers Sokka knelt to where Zuko had slid down the wall, his eyes never straying from the handle, his mind completely blank and white.

“Yes,” Suki hissed. _Yes?_

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck. I have to call 911, I have to—” Sokka fumbled for the door handle, but Suki wrenched his arm away, shoving him back towards Zuko. Sokka stared up at her, terrified. Zuko coughed, and blood leaked through his fingers where he held his stomach. Sokka was cold.

“Don't bring him into this,” Zuko rasped. Sokka's heart was definitely palpitating. Suki narrowed her eyes.

“Shut up, demon.” Zuko smirked and Sokka decided that somebody had laced his drink. He had to be hallucinating. _Demon_?

“I’ll admit, you’re good for your age. I thought Kyoshi Warriors finished training at twenty-two,” Zuko shot back. _Kyoshi Warriors? What the fuck?_ Suki gritted her teeth.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” she spat. “I _haven’t_ finished my training, thanks to your kind.” Zuko’s eyes, which were still worryingly red, darkened further.

“What are you talking about?” His jaw was tight. Suki stepped forward.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t there. You burned it to the ground,” she growled, a dangerous desperation in her sarcasm. There were tears in her eyes. “You’re a fucking monster. I don’t know what you’re doing up here on the surface, much less with this guy, but I suggest you go back to whatever crevasse you crawled out of.” She spared a glance at Sokka— an almost _apologetic_ glance. Her lipstick was still smeared from kissing him. She turned back to Zuko.

“Hey, I’m staying down.” It wasn’t quite a joke.

“If I ever see you again, I’ll destroy you.” His eyes caught fire again.

“Sokka, I don’t know your connection to this— this thing. He’s dangerous. You seem like a nice guy, so I’ll tell you to stay away from him.” _Okay, now the hookup is trying to explain the roommate stabbing._ Suki gestured to Sokka’s back pocket. “You’ve got my number there, if you want it.” She cringed. “And, uh, I'm really sorry about what just happened. So.. sorry.” And then she opened the door and slipped out of the bathroom, casually, as if she hadn’t just committed attempted murder in the first degree.

Sokka stared. He was about ninety percent sure he was in shock.

“Zuko?” He faced the boy on the floor. “Can you please not die while I go call 911?” Zuko smiled again, tiredly, and Sokka wanted to scream.

“Actually, you can’t do that."

“What do you mean, I can’t?” Sokka could feel his shock morphing to confusion and anger. “What the _fuck_ is going on?” Zuko grimaced.

“Sokka, please don’t freak out right now. Please, _please_ don’t freak out. I need you to help me get to the alley on the west side of this building, okay?” Zuko pulled his feet under him, starting to stand, letting out a low groan.

“No, you can’t go anywhere, you were just stabbed, we have to call an _ambulance_ —” Zuko had reached vertical, and he leaned hard into Sokka. He was still comfortingly warm.

“Shush. Take me outside, or I will pass out on you.” Sokka groaned, but he pulled an arm around his roommate and pushed the door open. Impossibly, the club was still perfectly normal, bumping at the same speed it— and he— had been when he first entered the bathroom. Except, of course, for Katara.

“Sokka! Where have you been? We need to get Toph out of here, she can hardly walk and it’s so loud I can’t even hear myself—” Sokka’s internal panic almost drowned out his sister’s yelling, but not quite. Behind her, Toph was riding Aang piggyback, looking thoroughly annoyed. Aang had his eyes on Zuko’s stomach.

“Katara—” Sokka tried to cut off her rant— “Katara!” She quieted, and finally paused to look at Zuko. She gasped.

“Is that— is he— how—”

“Take me outside, Sokka,” Zuko stuttered, distractingly close to his ear. It sounded more like a warning than a plea.

“You heard him. Come on.” Sokka pushed through the emergency exit on their left, which led to the west alley. There was a teenager there, smoking, but one glance at the variously injured crew sent the kid running. Zuko limped to the corner where the dumpster met the brick and sat, panting. Aang was whispering something to Toph, probably attempting an explanation. Katara’s hands were still pressed over her mouth.

Zuko, however, was doing something. He leant his head against the brick wall, the angles of his face shadowed in streetlight, and clenched his jaw again. Then, he reached in the pocket of his leather jacket, removing a dented tin.

He opened the tin, dipped his left thumb in, and began to swirl a design— a perfect, planned, meticulous design— onto the side of the dumpster.

“Zuko.” Aang’s voice was colder than Sokka had ever heard it. “You can’t do that here.”

Zuko grunted in place of a reply.

“What? What’s going on?” Toph squawked, her voice caught in her hair. Aang was entirely focused on Zuko now, and he looked almost sick.

“Zuko, stop. We can figure this out without—” Zuko cut Aang off with a growl.

“No, we can’t. If you can’t bear it, _angel_ , look away.” Katara made a noise of terror and shock, dropping ice into Sokka’s stomach. Zuko finished his drawing, and then pressed his left palm flat onto it. Closing his eyes, he inhaled sharply.

And there, in the not-quiet of the alley, as the bass thudded from within the club and the sirens screamed from up and downtown, the symbol he had drawn ignited. It hissed and crackled, sparking, flaming, but Zuko kept his bare palm right against it. His other hand, however, was reaching for his stomach, and Sokka knew what he was going to do only a half second before he did it. Zuko’s pale fingers closed around the handle of the knife and pulled.

Sokka lurched forward, knowing that taking the plug out of the hole was exactly what you were _not_ supposed to do in these situations, but Zuko held up a hand, waving him off with finality.

Aang put Toph down, abruptly, and turned away. He sounded almost like he was throwing up.

“It’s not bleeding,” Katara whispered. Somehow, she was right. It wasn’t. Rather, the fire from under Zuko’s left hand was spreading, creeping down his arm in bright, twisting lines. It snaked between his clothes and his skin, finding his stomach. Zuko groaned again, painfully, as the light flickered around the wound. He muttered something under his breath and stretched his neck. The light faded. And just like that, he brushed off his knees and stood.

“I’ve never felt someone’s heart do that before,” Toph said quietly. She stepped forward, even though Katara reached to stop her, and placed her hand on Zuko’s chest.

“Can you feel Aang’s heart right now?” Zuko asked darkly, his eyes looking over Toph’s head. She straightened, and for the first time maybe ever, her voice was scared.

“No,” she breathed.

—————————————————————————————————————

Katara was the first to whip around. Aang was doubled over in the street, his ‘punk’ sweatshirt laying in pieces around him. His wings were spread, and he was doing that _thing_ again, that thing Katara couldn’t focus her eyes on, where he was glowing and shifting and moving all at once. But it wasn’t like the other times— this time, it looked painful somehow. Aang twitched and let out a low sound, like a hurt animal.

“Aang?” Her own voice sounded wrong in her mouth. “Are you okay?” Aang didn’t respond, but his wings snapped in place, lifting his feet off the ground. He hovered. Katara heard Sokka swear behind her. She stepped forward. Whatever Zuko had just done was bad, but Aang being found out was definitely worse. Someone grabbed her arm, but she shook them off. She took another step, resting her hand on Aang’s back.

Immediately, she was elsewhere. Not physically, but where she had touched him, she as yellow; she was warm; she was inexplicably, entirely comforted. Aang’s skin felt like light itself. Keeping her hand on his back, she ducked under his wing, moving to his front. What met her was not comforting. Aang’s eyes were glowing— not like the rest of him was, but like the sun. If Katara looked for too long, she’d be blinded. But Aang made another pained noise, and she couldn’t help it— she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him down, pressing her face to his chest. Toph was right. There was no heartbeat. There was only a steady humming, like all the light inside of him was fighting to get out. She pulled him tighter, closer, vaguely aware of shouts behind her. And then, just as suddenly as the brightness had started, it stopped. Aang collapsed against her, falling to his knees on the damp concrete, his wings limp behind him. She cradled his head, looking back to where the others stood. Sokka was clearly horrified. Toph was confused, scared. And Zuko looked sick, his eyes focused unflinchingly on Aang. Actually, Zuko looked _really_ sick. In fact, his eyes were almost rolling back—

“Sokka! Catch him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a whopper and honestly my pacing is off but... it's also my favorite chapter so far! 
> 
> TW: hand-to-hand fighting, eventual stabbing and blood, mild sexual content.
> 
> Also Suki! Don't worry, this isn't the last you'll see of her.
> 
> No actual explanations until next chapter though, but I'm sure most of you can guess the gist of how Aang and Zuko actually got to the city and what's going on. 
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for reading, commenting, and leaving kudos. I've been having a really, really rough time lately, to be honest, and this community and all of your feedback makes me so happy. <3 <3 <3


	6. The Aftermath

Sokka was only just aware enough of his surroundings to put himself in the way of Zuko’s trajectory to the ground. Both of them fell in a tangle. Wherever Zuko’s skin brushed Sokka’s, it burned. He was on fire to the touch. Sokka jerked away, panting. Zuko was still.

“Katara!” Sokka breathed, her name the only thing left in his brain or on his mouth.

“Is Zuko okay?” She asked firmly from beyond his line of vision, which had tunneled to Zuko’s limp body on the pavement. Sokka swallowed and moved toward his roommate, turning him over by the lapels. His face was slack, just as if he was asleep, and his hair was tousled, glinting in the alley light.

But his eyes were open, burning again, wide and wrong against the rest of his face. He might have seemed asleep, but his eyes were in pain. Sokka closed them, though his eyelids were still painful to touch. It felt right in the moment, but it filled Sokka with thick dread. You only closed someone’s eyes like that if they were dead.

“Is he okay?” Katara repeated. She was still clutching Aang, who was fortunately earthbound and unfortunately unconscious. His wings— _wings—_ fell to the ground, stretched and limp. In their sharp silhouette, carved by the shadows, Sokka saw Michelangelo’s Pieta from that morning’s art history class. A fallen god, draped in a woman’s arms.

“His heart’s fine,” Toph said choppily, like her own voice surprised her. “There’s a noise—buzzing— in his brain, like electricity. But he’s breathing and all that.”

“And Aang?” Katara asked quickly.

“Same.”

“Okay.” Katara inhaled sharply. “We have to get out of here.” Her head snapped up to where Sokka knelt over Zuko. He watched his sister scan the situation, her survival instincts kicking in while his lay beside Zuko on the ground. She set Aang down, her fingers gentle behind his head, and then rummaged through her purse. She removed a collapsible umbrella and flicked her wrist to extend it. “Toph. With your cane and this umbrella, can you walk?” Toph nodded and took both makeshift crutches, wincing as she stood. Methodically, Katara rifled through the pockets of Aang’s baggy pants until she withdrew a plastic-wrapped rain poncho. Like she knew it would be there. She tore it open with her teeth and lifted Aang’s torso off the ground, pulling it smoothly over his bald head. Then she turned on Sokka. “Sokka. Can you carry Zuko?” She said sternly.

“Um. I mean, I don’t know how much he weighs—“ Katara frowned.

“Can you _drag_ Zuko?” Sokka nodded, testing the temperature of Zuko’s skin with a finger. It had cooled enough to stand, but was still inhumanly feverish.

While Toph tried to keep her weight off her left foot, Katara and Sokka heaved their respective charges to vertical.

“Now what?” Sokka asked, the first proper thought he had been able to string together.

“If anyone asks, these two—“ Katara gestured to Aang and Zuko— “are blackout drunk.” She propped Aang up on the wall to dig through her purse again, this time finding a nip bottle of vodka. If Sokka had been at all mentally present, he would have been amused. She uncapped it and pressed her thumb over the end, like she were trying to make a hose spray, and then shook half of it all over Aang. She gave Zuko the same treatment. “Now they smell the part too,” she said, conspicuously tucking the bottle in Zuko’s breast pocket. Katara steeled herself.

“Now we just have to get back to the subway.”

Sokka didn’t necessarily believe in a higher power— well, maybe he did, considering the events of tonight— but he thanked whatever was out there that there were no transport officers in the subway that night. They would have seen him jumping the barrier, and maybe would have let it slide if he were quick enough. However, they _definitely_ would have stopped him after he lifted the wounded blind girl over behind him. And probably called the police when he dragged two unconscious boys underneath the bars. Zuko was going to kill him for getting subway slime all over his good leather jacket.

“Come on, Cain and Abel!” Toph hollered, holding open the elevator. Sokka and Katara heaved their respective otherworldly-beings-slash-drunkards inside, panting.

“Does that make me Cain?” Sokka asked breathlessly. A homeless man with three harmonicas was camped out in the corner of the elevator, wrapped in sleeping bags, staring.

“Uh, hey there,” Katara said carefully, ignoring her brother, keeping Aang pressed against the wall.

The man shook his head, grinning through a toothy laugh. “I’m not even gonna ask for your change.”

With a bit more divine help, the fearsome fivesome snagged an empty subway car. Once settled (or deposited) into the hard plastic seats of the C Train, Toph turned on the siblings.   
“Now that we’re all good and comfortable, can one of you tell me what the ever-loving _fuck_ is going on?”

“Don’t look at me!” Sokka exclaimed.

“I’m not, dumbass.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I have no idea what’s happening.” Toph poked Katara.

“But you do, don’t you?” She declared. “What with Aang being your, like, _betrothed_.”

“He’s not— we— _ugh_ ,” Katara growled, head in her hands.

“Wait, you knew about this?” Sokka’s snapped, gesturing in the unconscious boys’ general direction. “What?”

“What is ‘this’? Can I get caught up here, please?” Toph squealed. Katara clapped her hands over her ears.

“Oh, shut up! Both of you! Here, Toph—“ Katara seized her hand, pulling it to Aang and under his poncho. Beneath her bangs, Toph’s eyes widened.

“Are those… feathers?”

“Yes. They’re his wings.” Katara sighed. “He hasn’t told me everything, but I walked in on him a few weeks ago and saw them. He’s— he’s an angel,” she said simply. A moment passed as the train car lurched around a corner.

“What do you mean, an ‘angel?’ Like a God thing?” Sokka asked, finally.

Katara rubbed her head. “Like a God thing.”

“Wait, like a guardian angel? Is he your guardian angel?” Toph piped in.

“No, I think he’s just a regular angel.”

“But would he tell you if he were your guardian angel?”

How the fuck am I supposed to know?” Katara snapped. “It doesn’t matter. He’s an angel, he’s been living on Earth alone for a few years now to, like, learn about humans or something. Get stronger.” She crossed her arms.

“Is he, like, a vampire?” Toph interjected. “Is he a thousand years old?”

“No! No, he’s 18— apparently angels die sometimes and new ones are born? I don’t know.” She rearranged the angel in question so that he didn’t pitch forward as the train slowed. “We haven’t really talked about it.”

“How was that not your first question? Aren’t you in love with him or something?” Sokka demanded, annoyed. The subway car jerked to a rocking stop that deposited Zuko in Sokka’s lap. Katara smacked her brother.

“Look, I don’t know! I was kind of shocked, if you can imagine, and I didn’t want to push.”

A long beat of silence passed as the doors opened and they waited for a passenger to board. None did, and the train hiccuped into motion again.

Sokka stared down at the boy across his knees. “Well, if Aang’s an angel, what does that make Zuko?”

“Does he have wings too?” Toph asked. “Check under his jacket.”

“No, we live together. I’ve seen him in just boxers.”

“Maybe he has little tiny dick wings.”

“Wait. Shut up.” Katara left her seat, kneeling in front of Sokka and Zuko. His eyes were closed, mouth slack, neck rolling with the motion of the train. Katara pushed her fingers into his fluffy hair.

“What, are you giving him a lice check?”

“Shush, Sokka.” After a moment, Katara’s fingers stilled. She gulped, then moved to the other side of his head. “Holy shit.”

“What? What?” Sokka asked, taking his own fistful of Zuko’s hair. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before, and it didn’t disappoint, silky and thick. Sokka remembered he was still a little drunk. But he was supposed to be looking for something— and there it was. A hard round stub, like bone. The top was flat and rough, like— like it had been cut down. He met Katara’s eyes.

“There are two,” she whispered. “Horns.” The siblings’ hands jerked away simultaneously.

“Horns?” Toph squawked. “Like a goat?”

Katara swallowed. “No. Like a demon.”

Before Sokka or Toph could react, the doors opened and another group of drunk students entered, stumbling into the seats across the the way. The slurred, discombobulated conversation of the other group faded to dull static in the back of Sokka’s brain as tried to put everything in order. He had not only been living on the same hall as an angel for two months, but living in the same room as a demon.

When they finally reached their stop, the other students had already left, but they were still quiet. Toph went straight to her and Katara’s room, grumbling under her breath and slamming the door behind her. Katara would have to take her to the health center tomorrow. Sokka gave her a small, sad, exhausted wave and pulled Zuko into into their room.

Aang had hidden a spare key under the top left leg of the couch in the common room. Katara remembered the way he told her, under his breath, and joked about his forgetfulness. Katara told him someone would eventually move the couch and get rid of the key and he’d be locked out anyway. He smiled conspiratorially and bet her ten dollars that they wouldn’t. He was right. She left him against the wall as she unlocked his door and then pulled him in by the poncho. Appa was immediately up and over him, sniffing, probably at the vodka. Katara gave him a scratch.

“Guess you were the real first to know,” she hummed to the huge dog. “Alright. Come on.” She rolled Aang up and into his own bed. His eyelashes were soft against his pillow, and she blinked, the image of those eyes stretched and glowing burned into her memory. She took a deep breath. It was fine. She had calmed him down. He was safe. Tentatively, she leant down, kissing him on the cheek. It was probably wrong to love an angel. This was probably the best she’d ever get.

Sokka quickly gave up trying to heave Zuko into the top bunk and just slung him into his own bed, pulling off his boots. He was wrestling with himself. A _demon._ Aren’t demons, like, dangerous? Or bloodthirsty? Or servants of hell? There were probably lots in the city, based on what Sokka had seen of it, but why was Zuko _here_ , at a college, acting like a completely normal 18-year-old? It made no sense. It wasn’t like he was there to tempt Sokka to sin— it had practically been the opposite. And Sokka couldn’t believe Zuko would ever hurt him. He realized he was staring. But who wouldn’t? Under all that floppy hair, filed down horns. Those flickering golden eyes, bright with flame and smoldering black at the edges. He had almost forgotten that Zuko had been stabbed tonight, and an uneasiness spread through his stomach. He’d prefer not to have Zuko’s blood on his shirt ever again.

Sokka stole some of Zuko’s sheets from the top bunk and slept on the floor. That way, Zuko couldn’t avoid him in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short but I've been busy lately and all this exposition/dialogue is hard to write. But enjoy unconscious Aang and Zuko. :>
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and for your kudos and comments. They mean a lot to me.


	7. The Morning After

When Zuko woke, Sokka was sitting at his desk across from the bed, staring. Something was wrong— the angle of the light, maybe? Oh. He was in the bottom bunk.

“You’re never up this early,” Zuko groaned.

“Yup.” His voice was flat.

“It’s Sunday. We don’t even have classes.”

“That’s correct.”

Zuko propped himself up on his elbows and black soreness punched him in the gut. Last night, in frames of alleyways and blood spatters and stab wounds, flashed across his brain. He flopped back onto the bed, exhausted just by remembering.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Sokka growled. “That’s all you have to say? What the fuck, dude!” Zuko wasn’t sure how much Sokka knew, or could have figured out. Aang fainted too, out behind the club, and—

“How’d I— how’d we even get home?” He stuttered from under the covers, not making eye contact. Sokka was practically vibrating with rage— or anxiety, Zuko couldn’t tell.

“You’re looking at him!” Sokka threw his arms in the air. For a long moment, Zuko imagined himself unconscious over Sokka’s shoulder in the dark. And then bridal-style on the subway. He pinkened under Sokka’s duvet. “How could you forget getting _stabbed_?”

“By your hookup,” Zuko mumbled.

“Actually, we didn’t get to hook up, thanks to you!” Sokka exclaimed. He wasn’t about to mention that he had forgotten a condom, too. Whatever.

Something ignited in Zuko, something dark and ugly, and he sat up straight, embarrassment gone. His abdomen ached, his skin unnaturally tight.

“Wow, I’m _so_ sorry you didn’t get your dick wet! You’re lucky that Kyoshi Warrior didn’t snap your neck!”

“A _what_ warrior? Am I supposed to know what that means?” Sokka got to his feet. If he had been just nervous before, now he was properly angry. “And I wasn’t the one getting a righteous ass-kicking. _You were_. Let’s not forget that.”

“A _righteous ass kicking?_ ” Zuko stood too. “ _Righteous?_ You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snapped. Fuck this. There was no way Sokka would understand anyway. He made for the door.

Sokka stepped in front of him, teeth bared. “Don’t I?” His voice was dangerous. “You have _horns_ , Zuko.” The declaration hung coldly in the air. “And Aang has wings. I think I have some idea of what’s going on.” Zuko was numb. Of course he would figure it out, he was Sokka, he was smart and perfect and a fucking riddle master. Those few months of warmth and happiness and studying and highlighting entire paragraphs and laughing so hard it hurt were over. He was done. Again.

“I guess—“ Zuko stuttered, mouth dry— “I guess I’ll go then.” He made for the door again, but Sokka stopped him, again, this time incredulous.

“Are you kidding me? Shut the fuck up. You’re coming with me, and we’re gonna get the girls, and Aang, who also has some explaining to do, and you are gonna make all of this make sense.” Sokka chucked some shoes at his roommate, who seemed to be unresponsive.

“Uh— where are we going?” Sokka paused, pulling on his own vans. A beat of awkward silence hung in the air.

“Library basement. I know a spot.” Zuko scoffed, lacing his boots.

“No. Anybody could catch us there.” Sokka threw up his hands again, his anger not quite burned off.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Zuko did.

———————————————————————————————————————

“Hold on, your _uncle_ owns this place?” Aang exclaimed, making eye contact with Zuko for the first time since last night. It was pouring, and as the skinny angel hopped in place to keep warm, his yellow umbrella shook droplets everywhere. Zuko wrinkled his nose.

“Yeah, I just said that.”

“Aang and I have been here like twenty times,” Katara said blankly, staring into space and shivering. She was still in shock.

Toph sniffed the air. “Hold up, is this the Jasmine Dragon?”

“I also just said that.”

“Your uncle is _Iroh_?”

“That’s easy to infer.”

“I once assaulted him in the grocery store on Seventh!”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was sort of by accident, but we had a great conversation. He gave me some tea and helped me find the cheapest cup noodles,” Toph reminisced.

“Okay, so all of you know Zuko’s uncle except me. Great!” Sokka snapped, pulling his raincoat tighter around his shoulders. “Can we go inside now?”

The door jingle was burned so permanently into Zuko’s brain that for a moment, he was catapulted back behind the counter, ready to ask a group of customers how he could help them. And beyond the discordant bells, the smell of the tea shop— a discordant smell in itself, a hundred different aromas and copper and steam— settled around his shoulders and into his hair, pressing onto his skin. It was comfortably cloying.

“Nephew!” The yell came from behind the beaded curtain, and Zuko only had a moment to wonder how Iroh had seen him before he was surrounded by his uncle’s embrace. His beard, permanently singed but neatly clipped, tickled the back of Zuko’s neck.

“Hello, uncle,” Zuko replied, letting himself sink into the comfortable bulk of the old man. A knife of guilt cut through him, sharper than the one he had felt last night— he and Iroh had agreed to part ways, to keep low profiles separately, but he knew it had hurt both of them. He should’ve visited.

Zuko remembered his explanation-awaiting friends and quickly pulled away, straightening his clothes.

“Zuko, you know these young people?” Iroh asked, pointing to the group huddled at the door. Zuko nodded.

“We’re all on the same floor at school. We came here to, uh, have an important conversation,” he said carefully, giving his uncle a look that he hoped expressed more than he could say aloud. Iroh, of course, understood.

“Well, it is lovely that my nephew has such lovely friends. And you— you must be Katara’s brother,” Iroh said, grinning widely, looking to Sokka. Zuko flushed. Sokka squirmed.

“Um, yeah.” Sokka held out a hand. “I’m Sokka.” Iroh shook it earnestly, but Zuko could see the anxiousness behind Sokka’s blue eyes. Sokka was a logical guy— an engineer, after all— and he must’ve realized that whatever Zuko was, Iroh had to be too.

Once Iroh had secured the group’s orders, he ushered them to the private back room, past another beaded curtain. He gave Zuko another long hug, whispering encouragement in his ear, and left the group alone. Zuko had spent a lot of time in this back room in his teen years— sulking, mostly— there was an unbalanced table, a bench, two overstuffed armchairs, a braided carpet, and cabinets of books and extra teas. It was also the shop’s break room. Zuko and the Jasmine Dragon’s only other employee, Jin, had played darts and smoked here when there were no customers. It felt almost too honest, too raw a place to share. But it had to be done.

———————————————————————————————————————

"Okay. First of all.” Zuko cleared his throat. He made split-second eye contact with Aang, and it burned. “There are a _lot_ of demons in New York City.” A beat of silence passed.

“So that’s what you are? A demon?” Toph spoke up first. Zuko choked.

“Um. Yes.” Zuko couldn’t lift his gaze from his fingers, which were strangling each other on the table below him.

“And if it wasn’t clear, that makes me an angel,” Aang added, his voice lower and quieter than usual. Zuko twitched. The steamy air of the tea shop was suddenly devoid of oxygen, stifling.

Toph let out a long breath all at once.

“Well, if we’re confessing shit, I’ll go next,” she said plainly. Then, more sheepishly: “I’m only seventeen.”

This, somehow, was apparently the most shocking of the declarations.

“WHAT?” Sokka howled from across the table, banging his fists down. Katara squawked and spluttered beside him, unable to form any words. “I gave you ALCOHOL!” Toph had the decency to blush, scratching the back of her neck.

“How— how are you even allowed here?” Aang managed. Toph snorted.

“Is it less likely for a seventeen year old to be allowed than someone who is literally not human?” She accused, but without heat.

“Yes!” Sokka screeched.

“Huh. Well, for the logistical explanation, my family’s rich and awful and suffocating. So I made some money of my own, passed some tests, and came out here.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not, like, emancipated, but they couldn’t physically stop me.”

“When’s your birthday?” Sokka growled, unsatisfied. Toph grinned again, wickedly.

“It was in September.” Sokka facepalmed, defeated.

“I knew you were shady,” he groaned.

Zuko, who had been frozen in disbelief as his paradigm-shifting admission had been outshone, finally had the courage to speak up. Sokka seemed calmer now than he had before— or at least his frustrations were aimed elsewhere. For a moment, Zuko saw with devastating clarity that he had only been thinking of Sokka’s reaction. But it was only for a moment.

“Um. Sorry. But can we get back on track?” He said a bit too sharply.

“Didn’t mean to steal your thunder, Sparky,” Toph prodded. Zuko frowned, but Aang spoke first.

“This is serious, guys. Nobody but you guys knows we’re here,” he said firmly. Zuko couldn’t hold back a scoff, and Aang turned on him. “What?” Zuko threw his hands up.

“First of all, don’t speak for both of us.” Aang raised an eyebrow. “And second of all, you haven’t been the most subtle, my friend.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I _just_ said there were plenty of my kind in this city. You think they wouldn’t notice one of _you_ — and what’s more, one of _you_ playing the vigilante?”

“I’m not a vigilante! I’m doing what I can to—“

“Okay, we get the picture,” Katara cut in. “Big secret. Hidden identities. I knew that already.” Sokka whirled on her.

“Speaking of which, I’d like to know why she got told before we did!” He said, pointedly _not_ looking at Zuko. Aang rubbed his head.

“Look, it was an accident. We were thinking about telling everyone, but then things got… out of hand,” he managed. And then Katara and Sokka and Zuko and Aang were all talking over each other.

“Can you guys shut up for like five minutes?” Toph interjected, picking her teeth. The group quieted. “I, for one, would like to hear Sparky’s explanation. And then Aang’s.”

“Why that order?” Zuko asked. Toph wrinkled her nose.

“No offense, but I want to see if the stories match up. And you’re a more shady character than our bald little meditator over there.”

“What, just because I’m a demon?” Zuko snarled. At the word, everyone at the table flinched. It cut. “It’s not a dirty word. I’m not ashamed of it,” he barked. His friends, except for Toph, all looked away. At least they had some guilt in their prejudice. “Whatever. I’ll tell you.” He leaned back into the armchair, _his_ armchair, and let its weight anchor him. He was in New York City. He was in the Jasmine Dragon. His uncle was right around the corner. Ginseng and chamomile and five hundred other flavors were on the air. He took a breath— Uncle always said that all power came from the breath. And besides, he _trusted_ these people. They were his friends. They would understand. And if they didn’t— he gripped the arms of the chair. Doesn’t matter. They _would_.

“Okay. I was born in Hell.” He began, not opening his eyes. He didn’t want to see their faces. Not yet. “Nineteen years ago. I’m young, as demons go. Really young.” Inhale. “My father’s— he’s a demon.” That was, technically, the truth. It was enough, for now. “But my mother wasn’t, completely. My grandfather on her side was a human, but he died long before I was born.” Zuko realized he was out of air. _Inhale_. “Whatever you think Hell is like, you’re wrong. It’s different than how humans think of it. But my childhood was about what you’d expect. There were good parts and bad parts.” Zuko’s heart was going too fast. Toph cracked her knuckles, and he knew that she knew. He wasn’t lying about anything. He was leaving out a big part— a bloody, fiery, devouring part— but that wasn’t lying. The war had no place in this explanation. If it did, Aang could deal with it. “My mom was gone by the time I was eleven.” The nicest way to put it, _gone_. “When I was thirteen, I left. Hell, that is.”

Zuko opened his eyes. The worst part was over. His friends hadn’t moved. Katara’s brows were drawn together and down, giving her that motherly look, but were sadder than they were afraid. Aang’s expression was somewhere between a wince and a flinch, but that was to be expected. Toph was just morbidly impressed. And Sokka— Sokka had leant all the way forward, arms crossed, hands flexing, eyes huge and blue and bright against his warm brown skin. They were anxious and angry in a way that pulled on something deep within Zuko. But not scared. Or horrified. Or disgusted. Zuko inhaled again.

“My uncle and I came to the city. We were homeless for two months. Eventually we both got jobs in another tea shop in Brooklyn, and my uncle basically remade the whole place, and some guy offered to give us our own shop here, plus the apartment above. And I went to high school, which kind of sucked.” _Inhale_. “And then I decided to go to college. And I met you all.” _Exhale_.

“So that’s it?” Toph said, flat.

“What, do you want me to explain the socioeconomic landscape of Hell to you?”

“Eventually, yes,” Katara interjected earnestly. “But that was good for now.” Sokka was quiet.

“Sokka?” Zuko tried, voice catching on the second syllable. Sokka swallowed, rolling his shoulders back.

“What about your sister?” His voice was low. Zuko’s breath and heart tripped.

“What about her?”

“Is she… like you?”

“A demon, you mean? Yes.” _Inhale_. “But not like me in any other way.”

“Is she still— is she still in Hell?”

“Yes. And perfectly happy, last time I heard from her.” Zuko said, trying not to let any traces of pain leak into his voice. Truthfully, it had been a long time since he saw Azula. But that was what she wanted. And the longer she stayed away, the longer he could enjoy not being mauled or dead.

“Okay.” Sokka’s eyes met Zuko’s, and Zuko could feel familiar sparks catching in his stomach and beginning to scorch his esophagus. He hoped it didn’t show in his eyes. But then Sokka reached across the table, covering one of Zuko’s hands with his own, warm and taut as always. “That’s enough for me.” Zuko exhaled. Toph cracked her knuckles again.

“That’s your cue, Twinkletoes,” she declared, poking the boy in question. He shuffled in place.

“Yeah. Right.” He squirmed, and Zuko felt a flicker of sympathy. For an angel who had nothing to defend. Aang was already confirmed innocent, not guilty. “Well, our stories probably won’t match up, ‘cause I’ve never been to Hell or even really talked to a demon before I met Zuko,” Aang began. “I mean, besides Heaven not being what people think. I grew up on a farm in upstate New York.” Zuko had to fight from keeping his jaw closed. Heaven’s a _farm_? “Heaven isn’t— it isn’t one thing. I mean, there is an official place, and that’s where I was born and where I’ll eventually go, but there are more angels on Earth than you’d think.” He frowned. “At least, that’s what they taught me when I was little. I haven’t actually met any in the city so far.”

A thin current of cold spread down Zuko’s spine. Was Aang— was he just going to skip over it all? Zuko was going to leave it to the angel to explain the war, but Aang was ignoring it too.

“I’m also actually eighteen. So, young too.” He glanced at Zuko. “But part of being a good angel is understanding human problems. So you can solve them. So when I turned twelve, I was sent away for a while to train with a human guru. Most angels stay with their human guides for, like, lifetimes, but I was—“ Aang hesitated. “I was having trouble. So Guru Pathik and I decided I should try to experience the world myself, meet humans, live in the city, find other angels doing their jobs. So here I am.” Aang lifted his head, surveying the group. Zuko struggled to keep his face neutral.

“About as boring as Zuko’s,” Toph announced. Aang glared. Katara reached for his hand.

“That’s great, Aang.” The bald boy softened, and Zuko nearly gagged.

“Thanks. To be honest, none of you were ever supposed to find out— but then Zuko and I were at that party and—“

“Hold on, which party? When was this?” Sokka said sharply. Zuko tried to convey to Aang that he should shut the fuck up, but the angel was oblivious as always.

“Yours, the one at the soccer house,” Aang obliged. Something in Sokka clicked, and Zuko was sure that his eyes were the wrong color by now.

“So you’ve known about each other for—“

“A while, yes.” Zuko finished. He looked at Aang. “And we made a truce, I guess.”

Aang nodded. “Yeah. We’re not supposed to get along, like, in the wild, but I mean— I think we’re friends?” A different kind of warmth spread through Zuko. Friends. With an angel. But it was true.

“Yeah. We are,” he conceded. “I’d never— I’d never hurt you or anything.”

“I know,” Aang affirmed. Katara held a hand up, like she was in class.

“I believe you, obviously, but then what happened in the alley?” Zuko inhaled again.

“I was hurt. I had to use some… demon stuff to heal myself. I’m sure Aang can attest to how your body changes when you’re on Earth— the longer you’re here, the more fragile you become.”

“Fragile? You got stabbed,” Toph scoffed.

“Yeah, well that knife would have bounced off me in Hell,” Zuko said darkly. Aang leant forward.

“Really? I’ve been on Earth my whole life. Do you think I’d be, like, invincible in Heaven?” He said excitedly. Zuko shrugged.

“I am probably the last person you should ask about Heaven, kid.” Aang nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay, wait,” Sokka began. “Can we backtrack to the stabbing part? Why did my hookup try to kill you?” Zuko was a bit queasy. Not about the killing, obviously. More about the hookup.

“Ew, Sokka!” Katara said, shoving him. Sokka opened his mouth to retort, but Zuko beat him to it.

“He has a point. She was a Kyoshi Warrior,” Zuko explained. Aang’s jaw dropped.

“Wait, are you serious? I’ve been to Kyoshi Island!” He jabbered. Zuko flinched. The warrior had said something about the island being burned to the ground— probably by his own father’s army. But he wasn’t going to bring that up.

“Suki was from where?” Sokka asked. Zuko nodded, trying to stay on task.

“Kyoshi Island. There are people on Earth— human and otherwise— who are aware of the, uh, existence of demons,” Zuko said. “People who don’t want demons on Earth at all. The Kyoshi Warriors were founded a couple hundred years ago by a less-pacifistic incarnation of an archangel, Kyoshi. They take in orphans or interested recruits and train them to, uh, kill demons.” Zuko remembered, in a blinding flash of heat, his father denouncing the Warriors from the other end of the ornate dinner table. He called them foolish, fighting the rising tide of demonkind. But that he had mentioned them at all showed that they were more of a threat than he would let on.

“They also have a sea monster!” Aang interrupted.

“Yes. They also have a sea monster.” Zuko said flatly. “But just a Bigfoot equivalent. A relativelynonthreatening eldritch leftover.”

“I do not think the ancient Unagi would care for such a description,” came a jovial voice from behind the door. Iroh entered, radiating warmth, holding a tray with three teapots. “It would not drown you in free refills, as I am about to do, but in its native waters of Bermuda,” he said cheerily.

“Hold up, Bermuda?” Sokka hollered. “As in the Bermuda triangle?” Uncle Iroh chuckled.

“The very same. If we are speaking of the Kyoshi Warriors, nephew?” Zuko nodded. “Their island is well concealed in the fog and mystery of the triangle.” As Iroh poured the tea, his expression darkened. “Unfortunately, not well enough.” Cold took root between Zuko’s shoulder blades again. _Shut up, uncle!_

“What do you mean?” Aang asked, a note of fear in his voice. Iroh straightened.

“I assumed you knew, little angel,” he said sadly. “It was destroyed not six months ago. Burned.” Aang gasped, and Katara covered her mouth. Sokka stiffened.

“By who?” Aang asked sternly.

“The demon army,” Zuko said quickly, giving his uncle a loaded glance. One that said, _they don’t need to know everything._ “Uncle and I left before it got too bad. But Hell is… advancing.”

“What do you mean, _advancing_?” Toph said. Zuko sighed.

“The demon army is slowly eliminating their enemies,” Iroh said measuredly, staring at the back of Aang’s head. “That is why they burned Kyoshi. But it is not their worst offense.” Iroh lifted his eyes to Zuko’s.

“I had no idea,” Aang said, quiet. Katara’s eyes were huge and scared.

“I am not the person to explain it. But my involvement in such violence is my greatest regret,” Iroh said.

“Involvement?” Katara prompted. Iroh sighed. He took a seat, then looked straight at Aang.

“I thought you would have recognized me, angel,” he began. Aang shook his head. “I was, once, a renowned general in Hell’s army. I led great sieges against— against angels.” Aang flinched.

“Look, nobody talked about this war on the farm. If there were so many sieges, how could I not know about it?”

Iroh cleared his throat. “When did you say you left?”

“Nearly seven years ago.”

“Seven years is a long time. And even before that, I know Heaven did not disclose everything to its youngest members.” The old man shook his head sadly. “I am afraid you need to see something, Aang.”

“See what?”

“Thanksgiving break is coming, is it not?” Iroh prompted.

“It starts in three days.”

“Leave early. Go back to the farm.” Iroh stood, sighing. “I must go, but I ask you not to pin the fault of these great evils on my nephew. We left when he was young. The crimes of Hell are not his.” Zuko’s cheeks burned and he leant his forehead on his fist. Iroh bowed curtly. “But it was wonderful to meet all of you.” His round, creased smile returned for a half-second before he disappeared back through the bead curtains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's some more logistics. Kind of. Obviously in this version Aang was never asleep in ice or anything, and he's already met Guru Pathik. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments-- they mean a lot, especially motivating me as senior year creeps forward. 
> 
> <3


	8. Chapter 8

For three days, the fearsome fivesome brainstormed methods of transportation to upstate New York. A train would only get them so far, and how would they get to the middle of the woods from wherever the line ended? It wasn’t like they could take the subway up to the Canadian border. Hitchhiking was shady, and who had room for five? Regular hiking was out of the question. Aang, apparently, could not fly them all one by one (“How am I supposed to hold onto you? Flying is like _running,_ Toph. I can’t carry you and run at the same time. Okay, maybe _you_ , but not Zuko. I can’t even touch Zuko!”).

By the time the three days were up, they were pretty much out of ideas. Having exhausted not only the natural and legal but the supernatural and illegal, Sokka flopped onto the couch into the common room and declared,

“I give up. There’s no way. Aang is going to have to fly himself alone, and we’ll just suffer through the shitty dining hall thanksgiving food and wait for him to come back.” Beside Sokka, Zuko bristled. He knew, even if the rest of them didn’t, that Aang was likely unprepared to deal with whatever he found at the farm all by himself. He stiffened.

“Out of the question,” Zuko said quickly, before adding, “if there are demons there, he needs protection. He can’t fight an entire platoon.” Aang, who was sprawled on the floor next to Katara, sat up.

“What do you mean, if there are demons there? No demon could find the farm. It’s too well hidden.”

Zuko shivered. “Maybe, but the demon army is getting smarter. They might be hanging around in the vicinity anyway.” Aang put his head between his knees.

“This is impossible.”

At that exact moment, the telltale light whacking of Toph’s approaching form popped up from the stairwell the hallway, this time accompanied by a likewise telltale jingle. She was flinging a set of keys in a perfect circle around her non-cane-occupied pointer finger. And smirking, of course. Sokka leapt to his feet.

“Are those _keys?_ As in, _car_ keys?” He demanded. Toph stopped flipping the fob and caught it. “Where did you get them? Do you have a car?” Sokka’s tone shifted from surprise to quick anger. “Did you have a car _all this time?_ ” Toph sniffed loudly.

“Of course not. Even I would get tired of all this whining.” She kicked the couch against which Aang was slumped. “I’m the only person here with connections— excuse me, the only person with _mortal_ connections— and there was no other choice. So. 1994 Ford E-150 Conversion it is.” Sokka’s jaw dropped. He sprinted to the window.

“Holy FUCK!” November was biting in New York City, but Sokka cranked open the window. “How did you even find a rental place in the city? How did you even get it here?”

Toph smirked. “Rental?” Sokka’s jaw dropped even lower. By now, the whole group had migrated to the window and were staring at the bright red van parked on the street below. “And come on, you think the big strong auto guys are going to leave a blind girl to get her boyfriend’s birthday present back to her apartment all by herself?” Toph widened her cloudy eyes and pouted, clasping her hands. “Not a chance.”

Twenty-seven frantic minutes later, Sokka was vibrating with excitement in the driver’s seat, Zuko was fiddling with a map in the passenger seat, and the rest of the gang was settling in for a bumpy ride in the back. Despite Toph’s best efforts in car-searching, there were not exactly seats in the back of the van— just kind of suggestions of benches. But they had put down two dorm mattresses and plenty of blankets, for comfort more than safety and so that they could hide if they got pulled over. A few duffel bags of clothes and snacks provided further cushioning. According to Sokka, this was a foolproof plan. And if things went wrong, Zuko could always demon-magic the cop, right? Zuko frowned.

“It doesn’t work that way.” Sokka tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re really telling me that you _can’t_ get us out of a ticket using some fancy witchcraft?” Zuko scoffed. “What’s all of it FOR, if not that?”

“World domination. The propagation of evil.”

“Come on. More like electric-kettle domination and the propagation of procrastination,” Sokka joked. Something inside Zuko crumbled and light shone through. He shrugged.

“Put on Beatz Masterz!” Toph piped up from the backseat.

“Hey! Shotgun gets to decide music,” Sokka retorted over his shoulder as the engine turned over. “And this shotgun better have brought some CDs.” Zuko grinned. This was going to be an unpleasant journey, he was sure— but he would enjoy it while he could. And a little Tupac couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been so late in coming and is so short. Senior year hit me like a ton of bricks, even online, but I'm hoping to get back into this now that... drumroll please... I've gotten into college! Yay! Anyway, more to come. Peace.


	9. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Half an hour after taking the George Washington bridge out of Manhattan, it began to snow. Appa was the first to realize, licking and pawing at the window with a deep _woof._ First snow of the season, and a real Nor’Easter, as any of the travelers would have known if they had bothered to watch the weather. But being college students preoccupied with the supernatural, they did not.

“Ah, we’ll be fine. One of the guys said this thing had four-wheel-drive,” Toph said offhandedly as Katara and Sokka argued about the best course of action considering the weather. Sokka shook his fist triumphantly.

“Exactly! C’mon, Kat, we’ll be _fine._ ”

“You hardly know how to drive, Sokka. You’ve only practiced in the city, which is more yelling than driving—“

“— And in New Jersey!”

“Upstate New York in a snowstorm is _bad_.” Aang tore at a fingernail. Zuko, in the front seat, turned the map over again. “None of us know what we’re doing! We rushed into this.”

“Kat. If we need to, we’ll pull over.” Sokka’s voice turned serious for a moment. “But I’m pretty sure we need to get to this— farm, whatever— of Aang’s as quick as possible, don’t we?” He leveled a meaningful stare at Katara in the rear view mirror. She bit her lip.

“Okay.”

Sokka, slowed by both the weather and his inexperience, made it north of Utica in five hours. By that time, Toph was listless and complaining, the car heater was working overtime, and the snow was getting ahead of the plows and salters. They managed to make it to Saranac Lake, but Sokka _refused_ to turn off there where they might have gotten a hotel— _just a few more miles—_ and was dissuaded from continuing only by Katara asking him how their dad would feel if he killed them and he had to fly back from his undisclosed military location to arrange their funerals.

Sokka took the next exit and turned the van into a decidedly deciduously forested little town. Snow already weighed on the branches of the trees surrounding them and dusted the gabled roofs white; it drifted where the plows had been and settled in perfect uniformity where the plows had not. Zuko had never seen so much cold in his life— snow in the city was dulled by the heat of its inhabitants. There was not a single hotel, and the weather was mounting to a full whiteout.

“Where are we parking, Sokka?” Katara demanded. “This looks like a hell of a lot of private property.”

“Find a church,” Zuko recommended. “They have big parking lots and they usually don’t kick you out.” Sokka blinked. “Or a Walmart.”

“I cannot believe a demon just suggested that we park in a church lot.” Zuko shrugged.

“Hey, as long as I don’t go in, I’m fine. The lots aren’t consecrated, only the graveyards.” Sokka blinked again. “Or a Walmart!”

“They teach you that in demon school?” Zuko grimaced.

“No.” He pointed to the left. “But look.” A classic white New England church stood resolutely on their left. Its sharp steeple faded into the sky against the bleached backdrop of falling snow. And its parking lot was blissfully plowed. Sokka pulled in.

“So, do we turn the car off and freeze or leave it on and drain the battery?” Toph piped up from the back seat.

“I hadn’t thought ahead that far,” Sokka admitted. “I mean, I was just fine to keep driving.”

“Obviously,” Katara spat. “Are there any emergency blankets? Don’t cars come with emergency blankets?” She began rifling around the back of the van and ordered Zuko to search the glove box, to no avail. “Okay, then we’ll huddle. There’s enough bedding from the dorm here. We don’t need emergency blankets. And we’ll turn the car on for a few minutes if it gets too cold.”

“Whatever. We have a guardian angel and a guardian demon here. Worst case scenario, one of ‘emcan do some warming magic or something,” Toph interjected, giving Appa a scratch.

Her statement hung in the air for a beat.

“Right?”

Zuko shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, I could, I guess. Like, alter some hellfire producing sigil or something to make it less potent,” he offered.

“I’d have to step outside,” Aang added.

“Yes. That’s a slight problem.”

“Ugh. No magic. Just climb back here, you two,” Katara said with finality, gesturing to Zuko and Sokka in the front seat. She had been arranging and sorting the blankets, and threw at Sokka as he hopped over the center console.

“Do I have to?” Zuko whined, _not_ looking at the back of Sokka as he climbed.

“Hey. Being part of the group means being part of group body-heat sharing,” Katara admonished.

“But won’t you go into, like, anaphylactic shock if you and Aang touch each other?” Toph asked.

“I’ll just stay at this end and Zuko can stay at that end. We can’t roll _that_ much in our sleep, can we?” Aang added hopefully. Katara sniffed.  
“I wouldn’t put it past Sokka.”

“Hey! You kicked something fierce as a baby. I’d know.”

“Okay, okay, sibling squabbles aside, Aang can go over there and Zuko over there,” Toph interjected, pointing in entirely the wrong directions. “Appa and I’ll make a wall in the middle. Done.” She flopped down dramatically, Appa doing the same beside her. Katara rolled her eyes, but she and Aang copied them. Toph sneakily tugged the blankets toward where she was ‘making a wall’ with Appa.

“Hey, Appa’s a furnace! We need those blankets too!” Sokka squealed, pulling back.

“ _Zuko’s_ a furnace,” Toph grumbled in response, not raising her head from where it was buried in Appa’s belly fur. “You’ll be fine.”

Sokka snatched a blanket and huffed. Zuko was red again.

“C’mon, dude. She better be right.” Sokka, all elbows and knees, snuggled down into the purloined duvet, huffing. Tentatively, slowly, Zuko followed suit, trying not to let any part of him touch any part of Sokka, who was already tossing his head and wrinkling his nose as he did when he was trying to fall asleep.

Toph was the first to start snoring. Then Appa. Aang and Katara whispered for a few minutes but then dropped off themselves. Then it was just Zuko and Sokka laying there in the silence, pretending not to know that the other was awake. But Sokka was bored.

“Can you really make hellfire?”  
“Yes.”

“That’s cool.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is if it can keep us warm!” Sokka rolled over defiantly to face Zuko.

“I guess.” Zuko shrugged horizontally, _not_ looking Sokka in the eyes. “But I’d probably mess it up and burn you alive.”

Another long moment passed.

“That’s kind of a joke,” Zuko added.

“Oh. Well even if you did roast me, couldn’t you just climb down into Hell and get me back?”

“Who says you’d go to Hell?” Zuko couldn’t help looking up at Sokka, and was startled again— every time, every time, every time— by his wide blue eyes, shining even in the darkness of the van.

“I don’t know.” Zuko waited for more. “This whole… thing has complicated my views of morality and spirituality, I guess.”

“So why do you think you’d go to Hell?” Zuko pushed. A small seed of sharp want had formed in his throat. Want for what, he wasn’t sure.

“I guess— I guess— Well, I don’t know.” Sokka exhaled, then inhaled. “I guess I just like you a little better than Aang. Even without the whole brother-hating-sister’s-boyfriend thing. Don’t tell him” Zuko was quiet. “Doesn’t that make me destined for hell, if I prefer the company of demons?” The want was drenched in cold. Zuko rolled over, facing away from Sokka.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he said, clipped.

“What, are you saying you wouldn’t want to hang out with me in Hell?” Sokka poked Zuko’s back, making him squirm.

“I’m saying _you_ wouldn’t want to hang out with _me_ in Hell,” Zuko said darkly, rolling over so that his face was in profile to Sokka, his nose and chin cutting a sharp white line against the darkness. Sokka sucked in a small breath. This was the unscarred side of his face, the right. It was pale and smooth, but also empty.

“Yes I would. I’d want to hang out with you anywhere,” Sokka said softly.

“What?” Zuko couldn’t resist turning fully back to Sokka, his whole face in view, sharp and beautiful even in the dark.

“Plus, I’d want to stab you and see it bounce off,” Sokka added, trying to defuse the tension thickening in the cold air between their faces.

“What if I lied about that and you really did stab me?” Zuko took the out.

“Then who cares, we’re already in Hell. It’s not like you can die again. Plus, you fixed the last stab wound just fine.”

“You’re making life and death and Hell sound much better than it is.”

“Oh yeah?” Sokka yawned, feeling stupid.

“You make everything much better than it is,” Zuko said quietly. Another second cut the air between them.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Zuko.” Sokka’s eyes met Zuko’s again, blue on yellow singeing to red. “C’mon, I’m tired from driving and arguing with my backseat-driving sister. I wanna try out your furnace capabilities.” Zuko huffed, wiggling down into the blankets as Sokka cautiously shifted closer.

“Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Sokka.”

In the stillness of the quiet period just after midnight— the hour in which sleepover guests proudly exclaim that “it’s tomorrow!”— Aang woke slowly, confusedly. Not with a start, but with an indefinite feeling that something was wrong. It was dark in the van, the kind of dark Aang hadn’t seen since before he left the farm. It was never really dark in the city.

Katara was shivering. That was what woke him. The blanket had slipped off her shoulders and her breath fogged in the air. Aang frowned. Didn’t Sokka say they should periodically turn the car on to keep warm? He smoothly disentangled himself from Katara and, wincing at the small click, opened the back door of the van, slipping out. The cold was much worse outside, and Aang could feel his feathers fluff under his hoodie. He shut the door, trying not to let any cold in, and walked around to the driver’s side, opening the door and pawing around on the seat for the keys. He cringed again as he turned them in the ignition, watching the sleeping figures in case they woke. No one rose but Katara, sharply, turning her painfully blue eyes— those blue eyes that glowed even in the dark, somehow— onto where he was in the front seat. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. Aang grasped his arms, making the universal sign for ‘cold’ back at her. She smiled, eyes soft. Pulling a blanket around her shoulders, she picked her way along the edge of the sleepers and, graceful despite the cold and the hour and the past backseat driving, slid over the dash into the passenger’s seat, holding her fingers to the vent.

“You were shivering,” Aang stuttered, whispering. Katara nodded, smiling impishly.

“I was. Thank you.” A moment of silence passed as hot air blew rosiness into their cheeks. Katara turned her hands over on the vent, warming their backs. Aang’s mind went blank for a moment, and he reached for her hands with his own, covering them in his only slightly warmer grasp. But she smiled, and Aang felt something even warmer than heavenly magic crackle inside him. They just sat, for a little while, until their breath no longer condensed in the air around them.

“Aang,” Katara started softly. “What— what do you think Zuko’s uncle meant, telling us to come up here? What’s the rush?” Aang made to pull away his hand, but she held on. The warmth in him was still there, but now edged with a sharp fear.

“That’s— that’s kind of the problem,” he began, sharply exhaling every word. “I don’t know, really. But the farm is impossible to find if you don’t know exactly where to look, and you can’t get to it at all unless you’re an angel.”

“Iroh seems to think something… something bad happened there,” Katara said, her eyebrows pulling downward. Aang shook his head decisively.

“It’s just impossible. You’ll see. Regardless of whatever’s going on, I’m excited to show you my home. It’s beautiful.” He squeezed her hand and forced a smile. “ _And_ untouchable.”

At 5:30am, the van was all stillness. Toph and Appa took up the most room, smack-dab in the middle, her face buried in the soothing rise and fall of his sternum and her arm trapped under his left flank. Every so often, throughout the night, he would wiggle or nip at her ear and she would respond in kind. At the far end, towards the back doors, Katara and Aang had returned to their original positions, Katara’s head pillowed on Aang’s chest, her hair fanning out and tangling all around them, giving Aang a ticklish beard. He didn’t mind. At the other end of the van, Sokka and Zuko were intertwined, Sokka gangling across and under Zuko’s sharp chin and Zuko’s leg thrown haphazardly between Sokka’s. Zuko’s spiky hair was all out of order, and one of Sokka’s hands— it seemed as if he had grown more limbs, in the night— was under his head, resting flush with his scar, fingertips on Zuko’s scalp. The only sound or movement was their unified breathing, the rise and fall of energy and love and warmth in the tiny atmosphere of the van.

Then someone pounded on the window, and all hell broke loose.

Aang sat up straight, tossing Katara’s top half into his lap and pulling on her hair, making her squeal; Toph jumped to her feet, wrenching her arm painfully as she pulled it out from under Appa, her hair static-ed to a ridiculous height; Zuko and Sokka jerked away from each other, Sokka nailing his head on the center console and Zuko pulling awkwardly at the blankets around them.

“Who’s in there?” A deep voice said from outside the van. Toph poked Sokka, who was rubbing his head.

“Go! You’re the driver!” She whispered.

“I could have a concussion!” He responded. She poked him again and he groaned, throwing his torso into the front seat. Outside the van was a gigantic man with proportionally gigantic fists, which had no doubt been the source of the wake-up-call. “It’s a man,” Sokka hissed under his breath.

“I can see you,” The man said. He crossed his arms, shifting the miles of plaid in which he was dressed. Sokka flinched, pulling himself fully into the driver’s seat and rolling down the window, putting a comically casual look on his face.

“Ah, good morning, good sir. How can I help you?”

“You’re not allowed to park here, city boy,” the man said, more bored than menacing.

“City boy?” Sokka spluttered. “I am not just a—“

“We’re so sorry, sir,” Zuko interjected, shooting a _look_ at Sokka now that the flush in his cheeks had calmed— “You must be the church caretaker?” Ironically, Sokka noted, Zuko had a hell of a talent for catering to authority. The man made a face between a grimace and a grin.

“Nah. My truck’s around the corner. They usually come to kick us out in about fifteen minutes,” he responded casually, lifting the cuff of his shirt to glance at his watch. Sokka’s jaw dropped.

“Oh. Well, thank you for the wake-up call. Very… appreciative,” he stammered, flicking his eyes between the man and Zuko. “If that’s all…” The man held up a hand.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he said. “I did you a favor. These church folks woulda called the cops on ya. Care to do me one in return?”

Six minutes later, Sokka was driving to the nearest gas station to fill up a canister for the man. Zuko sat, ramrod straight, in the front, peering at the map. Aang, Katara, Toph, and Appa were crowded against the front seat, trying not to stare at the huge man sprawled against the back door of the van. Well, everyone but Toph.

“What’s your name?” She demanded, loudly breaking the silence before Katara had a chance to clap a hand over her mouth.

“Chit Sang,” the man responded.

“And what brings you to this tiny town and church, Chit Sang?” Toph continued as Katara hissed into her ear. Chit Sang shrugged.

“Work. Of a sort. I come through here a lot.” He grinned, toothily. “How about you? A bunch of college kids on a road trip?”

“Something like that,” Katara grumbled, pulling a blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“What are you, camping in winter?” He asked, picking at the edge of one of the sleeping bags they had thrown into the back. “Mighty cold up in the Catskills right about now. If you drive up into the mountains you might not make it back down. For more reasons than the weather.” Aang’s head snapped up.

“What reasons?” Chit Sang raised an eyebrow and flashed another creepy smile.

“Not that I believe in any of it, but strange things have always happened in this neck of the woods. Strange lights and sounds, forest fires out of season, screamin’ and yellin’ from the middle of nowhere. People’ve gone looking for the source of all of it and gone missing themselves.” Katara shivered. “But I don’t know. I don’t spend too much time up here. It’s just the rumor about town.” In the front seat, Zuko was rigid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting folks. Sorry for another chapter of non-action, but it's coming, I promise! Thanks for all the congrats on my college acceptance. Means a lot. <3
> 
> (also the chapter title is the title of a Robert Frost poem that is very cozy and lovely--  
> Whose woods these are I think I know.  
> His house is in the village though;  
> He will not see me stopping here  
> To watch his woods fill up with snow. 
> 
> My little horse must think it queer  
> To stop without a farmhouse near  
> Between the woods and frozen lake  
> The darkest evening of the year. 
> 
> He gives his harness bells a shake  
> To ask if there is some mistake.  
> The only other sound’s the sweep  
> Of easy wind and downy flake. 
> 
> The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
> But I have promises to keep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep.
> 
> Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” from The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright 1923, © 1969 by Henry Holt and Company, Inc., renewed 1951, by Robert Frost. Reprinted with the permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC. )

**Author's Note:**

> All this introductory stuff is hard I promise it gets better and more natural! Thanks for reading and drop a comment and some kudos if you like it and want some more <3


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